Wild Is The Wind
by Terraform
Summary: Michelangelo is the goof, the comedian, the joker. But he is so much more than that. Like the wind, he is wild. He is fast. He is strong. This is what he brings to the table.
1. The Way of Mikey

A/N: What a productive couple of weeks! I was originally intending on completely finishing this, but after sitting on it and ignoring it for months on end, I think what might help is accepting what is so I can move onto the very next chapter. Then the next one. And the next. And hey, I might even get it done! This is probably going to be a slightly longer fic and Mikey heavy. It's still finding it's feet. It may end up being disjointed tales. That said, I really do hope you enjoy it!

And before I go, thank you so much for all the positive feedback on the last tale (The Walk). I'm brimming with gratitude. It makes me want to write. You are the best! And a special thanks to Nov who has been listening to me whinge about this thing forever.

* * *

 _A blur_ , Raphael thought. That was how he would describe his brother's fighting style. Ever the quickest; the one that could jump the highest; the one Splinter would shake his head at most, saying 'If only you _applied_ yourself, my son, your form would be _unparalleled_ '. But then again, Michelangelo never was one for geometry. Battles always seemed like a game to him as he moved between the hoards of combatants like a breeze, dodging a sword strike here, jumping a scimitar swing there. There was little wonder as to why he had gravitated towards the fastest weapon, one that seemed to propel him with the very air it generated from its constant motion.

"Nothin' bad sticks to me," he would often chime after a battle, "I'm teflon, man. They try and lay down the hurt, and I go serve 'em dessert. Say, why don't ya print it up and hang it in ya room like a motivational poster: _Thoughts by Mikey_."

"How 'bout I stare at an empty wall." Raphael had said back, "Same difference."

"I can't hear you, bro. I think my ears are full of teflon."

"Funny, baby bro, 'cause ya head is otherwise full of sweet fuck all."

"Huh?" Mikey had pointed towards his head, "Teflon, dude. Not hearing it."

But in way he had a point. How many times had he come out of a fight with the least amount of bruises? The least puffed out? The least troubled by what he had seen and done? He was as wily as a goddamned wet bar of soap in an oil slick. Just watching him and you could understand. Half of the style he had evolved consisted of avoiding an attack, followed by lightening fast retribution: Dodge then strike. Strike then dodge. It was simple in its approach and deceptively complicated in its execution. The way of Mikey.

 _Nothin' like me._ Raphael found himself thinking. He caught anything coming his way and threw it back ten times harder. Such was his nature. God knew he had the scars to prove it.

Sure, it would have been easy to accuse Michelangelo of phoning it in, but even Raphael could admit that in any battle Michelangelo was completely and unquestionably committed. It was a profoundly strange thing to see, the switch over of Mikey into battle mode, where as soon as any real fight erupted, all of the frivolous bullshit that often frittered about in his mind would disappear in an instant. Even the rest of them struggled with that switch - you could practically hear Leonardo's wheels turning during a battle as he strategised every play; see Donatello's second guessing; and no doubt feel the heat of his own anger...but for Michelangelo, it was different. Nothing but a chilled wind on an empty plain. Yeah. A _really_ empty plain. But as barren as it was, Raphael quietly admired it. Not that he would ever - under any circumstances - admit it. No fucking way. And it was a skill that did not go unnoticed by their master, either. Splinter had made note of it on more than one occasion during training, making the rest of them feel unaccomplished in something they had no idea of how to attain. Something that Raphael was sure bugged Leonardo no end. Leonardo might have been perfect, but Mikey was something _else_. Once, on the pretense of giving him shit, Raphael had even asked his little brother how he did it. The reply still touched him in its casual sweetness:

"Gotta look out for my bro's. Even you, Raphie." Michelangelo had explained with a cheery grin and a dismissive wave of his hand.

It was almost humorous that he had neglected to mention anything about protecting himself.

And now here were they were, in the thick of an ambush. They had been not expecting anything more than a routine training run. That was their first mistake. Not believing what Michelangelo had seen only a week earlier was their second. How often did they take Michelangelo's musings with a large grain of salt? Hell, a salt-lick, even. Prone to jumping to conclusions or making monsters out of shadows, they would constantly be reassuring him that it was all . Just. _Fine._ Thank-you very much, and here's the complimentary bleed with the shave. Oh, boy. He'd never let them hear the end of it now. But if they had had any inkling from the start that this was the shitfest that what was going to go down, he suspected they would have come along with something more than basic weapons. Maybe even given this one a skip and let the gangs do the dirty work on each other for them. But now, having been jumped, their options were fewer than none.

The attack had dropped in from higher ground, cornering them in an industrial area by the docks. Raphael did a quick mental count. At least fifty foot-soldiers had come from nowhere, headed by Karai. She barked out her high-pitched directions in Japanese, ordering them to:

" _Kill them! Kill the green freaks!"_

The conviction in her voice was imminent. The soldiers were out for blood. Turtle luck was running true to form.

"Mikey! Behind you!" he snarled, throwing up his _sai_ and stopping a sword strike in its tracks.

A quick flick of his wrists and he could hear the cheap metal snap beneath his tines. Foot soldier weapons were a mix of Chinese forged shit that the newbies shook about and the serious Japanese shit that the long-timers wielded. A strong sidekick sent the foot soldier careening backwards into the brick alleyway wall. But the fight was far from over. Raph didn't waste a second, curving his body to slam shell-first into three others headed his way.

" _Fuckers_." he ground out between clenched teeth as they tumbled to the cement.

Far to the left he could hear the whir of Donatello's bo over the ruckus of shouts and clashing weaponry, hitting targets with horrifying accuracy. The sound was practically clockwork. He could almost imagine his brother's grim set face, cold and calculating, as he made light work of the goons with his staff. He slung a quick eye over at his youngest brother, ready to jump in at any second. So far Mikey was holding his own. Until the trickle of Foot soldiers became a swarm.

"LEO! It's rainin' Feet down here!" At the lack of instruction he shot his gaze up only to see his brother engaged with Karai in a very lackluster battle. Infuriated he turned to Michelangelo, "What in the _fuck_? LEO!"

No time to chase Fearless, now. Their hands were full.

"Mikey, how ya holdin' up?"

Ten feet over, Michelangelo casually side-stepped a flailing _manriki_ as if he had the premonition to so in the first place. It skimmed by his unperturbed face, not a sliver of worry crossing it. A near-miss category 1 asteroid.

"Got it, bro. You?"

"Ain't even broken a sweat."

"I haven't even broken wind." Michelangelo snickered.

"Sh'yeah. Wouldn't wanna make it _too_ easy."

"I hate to tell you I told you so..." Michelangelo said before springing to higher ground, "Wait, who am I kidding? I TOLD YOU SO."

 _CRACK._ Now Raphael had broken something. A face. He shook off his knuckles.

"No shit."

Mikey let out a snort and a chuckle. The soldier he had been engaged with jerked his _manriki_ back before lashing out again. This time it flew out to the exact place Michelangelo wanted. He swung himself aside, catching the chain around his arm. Moving fast, he leaped across to a locked dumpster and over its edge, pulling the chain taut. The foot soldier yelped in horror as he was dragged along for the ride, and rendered silent when smashed head first into the grime caked steel. Michelangelo tossed the metal links off his arms. But there was no time to rest. Another soldier had approached brandishing _nunchaku_. A speck of delight lit up Mikey's face.

"Bring it, Little Foot." Michelangelo flipped his own weapon over his shoulder and caught it in his right hand, "Show me what ya brought to the party."

The foot soldier made a bad decision that would be his last. Michelangelo darted in with break-neck speed, taking his opponent out with a side whip of his 'chucks. Blood spurted from the soldier's nose as he crumpled motionless onto the ground. Within moments he repeated the action. It was like he didn't even have to think about it.

He probably wasn't.

But even he couldn't have seen what was coming next. From behind them, Leonardo called it, his voice ringing above the commotion.

 _"Incoming! Look alive!"_

Raphael knew one thing- if Leonardo had made a point of giving a heads-up, things were going to turn nasty. He glanced up from his position, simultaneously delivering a roundhouse to a hulking foot soldier's ribs. They cracked wetly, bending inwards like broken fingers. Screams turned to gasps around a punctured lung.

Then he saw it. A stream of tattered violet clothing. Ugly on ugly. Purple Dragons.

"Holy _fuck._.." he muttered under his breath. Just their luck to get caught in the cross-fire of a gang war. He glanced over at Leonardo to receive their next move.

Catching his sight, Leonardo flicked his eyes upwards.

"Mikey! Don!" Raphael bellowed out, "We're outta here!"

.

"What. The fuck. _Was that?_ " Raphael snarled lowly to Donatello and Michelangelo, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder to the direction of Leonardo's quarters. Donatello stood leaning against Michelangelo's bookshelf, crossing his arms before returning an understanding nod.

"He must have had his reasons." Donatello tried to rationalize with him, "Leo is not exactly what I'd call reckless."

"Yeah. I can guess those reasons." he slapped his upper plastron with both hands, "Two fuckin' A-cups attached to a grade-A bitch."

Michelangelo tipped his head in confusion.

"Wha..? Did I miss something?"

"Oh, nuthin' much. Just yer Fearless Leader there goin' on a little dance date with while we were bustin' our balls with the henchman."

"No." Michelangelo exchanged an uncertain look with Donatello, "No way, dude. He musta been trying to get her to back off or something, right?"

"Ol' Crazy Eyes? Do what Leo says? Are we talking 'bout the same Karai, here?"

"We have to at least give him the benefit of the doubt, Raph." Donatello countered warily.

"I'm through with the givin' him anythin' unless _he_ starts talkin' to _us_."

Not that he was going to start holding his breath waiting for that to happen, he thought sourly. On the way back Leonardo had barely uttered a word, and had the nerve to look annoyed when confronted.

"Hey, it all came up turtles." Michelangelo said brightly in a misguided attempt to alleviate the mood, "We got out with barely a scratch. Well. Except that thing on your leg... _yeowch_."

A compress was barely containing the dribble of blood anymore. A newbie, of all people, had nicked him with a lucky strike… but that was just another story to add to the collection of those going to the grave.

"Yeah. It all worked out for the best." Raphael scoffed, slamming his weight down on the desk chair and slinging his gammy leg onto an upturned crate as he prepared to stitch the gash on his calf. " _This_ time."

"Here, " Donatello began, "Let me..."

Raphael lifted an arm, practically blocking his brother from the task.

"S'ok. I got this one."

Donatello relaxed his hands by his side, watching Raphael unwrap his wound before coming to a conclusion all of his own:

"Let's treat it like what it was. An anomaly. There's no need to go undermining things unless we establish a pattern of behavior." He turned to go, but not before adding, "Sit on it for now. If I can get anything out of him, I'll let you know."

"Yeah. Good luck with that."

But sitting here was better than getting nowhere, Raphael supposed. Leonardo would crack, eventually. And some version of the truth would filter through. That was the thing about Leo, he was a little too much of a boy scout to keep secrets. Besides, the cut was deep and stinging like a motherfucker. He let out a sigh through his nostrils and cracked his neck, as his youngest brother fell onto the bed shoved up into the corner of the room. Mikey may have been spent, but retreating from the battle had left Raphael twitching with restlessness, his body unsatisfied with not being muddled into exhaustion. He glanced around Michelangelo's room - cluttered with a random assortment of pop culture junk and dotted with the occasional container rotting food - and was oddly comforted by the disorder.

"That." Michelangelo began croakily, "Was _not_ easy. Where are they even getting these new ninja from?"

"Must have a new hound master. Considerin' we took the last one outta commission."

Raphael squeezed his sliced calf together between his thumb and forefinger, muttering a few curses at the fresh pain. To his annoyance, the new scar would cross an old one. It was tougher to stitch over old scar tissue. But he would make it work. He sure as hell had enough practice. Out on the field he'd more often than not be the one making compresses and slings for renegade injuries. Donnie could only do so much at once, especially if he was the patient in question.

Fascinated with the task, Michelangelo propped his head upward to watch.

"Why didn't ya just get Donnie ta do that?"

Raphael gave a wry grin, "'cause he don't fix it up as pretty."

He pinched the needles end and struck the lighter beneath it, letting the flame lick the metal clean. Cooked to his satisfaction, he slammed the lighter on the bookshelf behind him. Snorting, he made the first pass through his skin, suppressing a twitch of his eye as a sharp pain laced up his leg.

" _Man_ ," Michelangelo groaned, spread out on his comforter, "My everything hurts... I'm talking everything. Even my mask." his voice was suddenly affected with a phony rasp, "Hey. Bro. Can ya do me a solid and get me some water after ya finished there? I don't think I can move for the next few centuries."

"Get it yourself. If ya hadn't been so damn lazy the last few weeks ya wouldn't be all laid up."

"...how did you know?"

"It's called repeatin' the usual shit, little brother."

Typical of Michelangelo to get away unscathed with only sore muscles to show for it. He grimaced as he wove the needle through particularly tender section of his flesh. He'd always find himself doing this in Mikey's room, figuring his kid brother was a good distraction to the part of him that, ironically, wanted to punch a wall at the pain. Finished with the job, he knotted the string. He leaned in close and bit off the trailing thread as drops of blood streamed down his leg.

"Aw, man! Ya bleeding on my things!"

Raphael threw the thread on the ground.

"Yeah, 'cause ya room's so fuckin' pristine. For Chrissakes, Mikey, it smells like cat piss in here." he prodded the job then lifted his head, "Where's the stuff?"

Michelangelo lifted a weary finger to the shelf behind his brother. Raphael swiveled around, grabbed the small bottle of disinfectant and uncapped it before pouring it neat over the sutures. It seared like a burn before regressing to a dull throb. Placing it back he noticed a small scrap of paper beside a stack of comics on the floor, covered with Michelangelo's unmistakable scrawl. The heading caught his attention:

 _Brothers_

"What the…" he muttered, picking up the blood splattered page. He flicked off the remnants of liquid and read it.

 _these green fists don't miss,_

 _mask like tomatoes and blood,_

 _eats you with sharp forks._

Frowning, he screwed the paper up in his hand before tossing it at his brother's head. It pinged off then rolled under the bed to join the rest of the dusty junk shipwrecked there. Michelangelo jerked up.

"Hey! What did ya do that for?"

"'Cause yer a little punk writing frou-frou crap about me. That's why."

Michelangelo chuckled sheepishly, resting his head back down onto his mattress.

"Oh haha, yeah, I was just practicing writing with some haikus. Y'know: ' _a poem with five, and then seven syllables, then five more again'_ …They say ya meant ta write about what you know so I did one for all of you guys: Leo, Donnie, you. I thought yours was good. But no-one respects the artist anymore...it's a crime, really."

Raphael emitted a low grunt of displeasure before a spark of competitive curiosity reared itself:

"Wait, what's Leo's?"

"Ohhhh... _now_ ya want to know, well-"

"Forget it."

"Fine. You twisted my arm." Michelangelo stretched his arm out, sweeping it down the side of his wall and bending it obliquely under the bed. "See? I'm literally twisting my arm for ya here, Raphie. Ah, got it."

Michelangelo pulled the crumpled notepaper up. He briefly hesitated, looking down at the poem then back to his surly brother. Maybe this was not a good idea, he thought with a pointed molecule of logic. He held it tightly, considering if the fallout would be worth the attention...

Impatient for the reveal, Raphael hobbled over then slammed himself down on the end of the bed, causing Michelangelo to jolt skywards against the pull of gravity. He snatched the paper away and straightened it out.

Michelangelo watched him, "Other side."

Flipping the paper around, Raphael's eyes scanned the page, finally landing on the promised haiku:

 _Blue mask, blue balls, why?!_

 _Karai is why but he's shy_

 _Low Kleenex supply_

A gravelly crack of laughter erupted from Raphael, ringing through the lair like a thunder strike. Anyone that heard that sound knew that a storm was coming.

"O-ho, I'm _keepin'_ this one."

He folded it up neatly and slipped it by his _sai_.

"No! _No no no_...He he's gonna kill me if ya show him that. Do ya hear me? KILL ME! Write my eulogy, bro, 'cause it's happening."

"Relax. I ain't gonna show 'im." he shot his brother a snake-like grin, tapping where the evidence lay, "I'm keepin' it. For leverage."

Michelangelo balked in alarm, any exhaustion long forgotten. Last time he had been blackmailed saw him on bathroom duties for a month.

"If you think I'm plunging the toilet next time ya jam it up... just _forget_ it. I'd rather take my chances with Leo."

Raphael leaned back on the stool and cracked his knuckles, appraising him with an expert eye, "We'll see about that."

Called on his bluff, Michelangelo eyes widened, "Damn those delicious spicy chicken and black bean fajitas."

"An' now I know what I'm eatin' the rest of the week."

"No!"

Without further thought, Michelangelo launched himself forwards and snatched his note back. He slammed it into his mouth, grinding it to mush between his teeth. Raphael had not even had time to knock him off before the paper was gone. Michelangelo gulped hard, grimacing.

"Ugh, tastes like disinfectant." Globs of pulp littered his tongue."And _blood_."

Then the retching began. Raphael sighed. Michelangelo always did have a weak stomach. He frowned at a dark and imposing memory and glanced down at the long trailing scar on his brother's thigh that had all but faded.

"Stay here." Raphael grumbled, still a little peeved that his brother had bested him, "I'll go get ya some water."

...


	2. A Case Against Kool-Aid

A/N: continuing on from the previous chapter here, but things will change (they say it is a certainty, even!). Thanks to all following this lil fic along! The next chapter will be up much sooner :)

...

"Drink." Raphael ordered his spluttering brother, foisting the cup towards him with enough force to send a trickle of water of the rim.

Michelangelo nodded between gags, gratefully accepting his brother's small act of mercy.

"Oh. _Man_ ," The cup hovered in one hand as he stopped to unleash a fresh bout of choking coughs, "I think I'm gonna _hurl_ …"

"Sit up a minute, dingbat. Give it half a chance ta get down."

This time Michelangelo listened. He propped himself up and finished the water in one smooth motion. Satiated, he continued with his previous complaints.

"Dude... listen ta me! I'm such a mess I can't even type back to my girl."

Raphael's gaze shot suspiciously upwards as he reclaimed the empty cup and set it atop the bookshelf.

"Who?"

With a weighted sigh, Michelangelo star-fished his limbs on the bed. The sheets spooled into brown colored folds around him.

"Y'know. Just this person I met. Online. A girl."

 _Ah_. Now all the moping was making sense.

"Look. Don't get ya hopes up, Mikey. She'll run at the first mention of sewers. And if she don't, she'll run at the first look at ya face."

The wise-crack went unnoticed as Michelangelo drifted to the salacious part of his mind where she resided.

"It's not like that." he responded, staring dreamily up at the ceiling, "We're just, y'know, _friends_." He looked over at his brother with a grin. "She even lives here in good ol' NYC. We haven't met or anything... I mean, we've chatted online, y'know, had a few D and M's. She's crazy funny and has these awesome, _awesome_ -"

Michelangelo mounded his hands onto his chest in the shape of full breasts, releasing a repressed grunt as he pressed down onto his face. Raphael more than knew the feeling, but was slightly disturbed to witness it on one of his brothers.

"Ya maybe wanna wait 'til I leave the room before ya start doin' that?"

Michelangelo slipped his arms beneath his head, lost in his daydream.

"She's an artist. Literally. When she's not working in her dad's store, anyway. I saw some of her sketches and man, they're _a-freakin'-mazing_... like straight out of a DC comic or something. I told her I draw a little, too, but mainly I write. And then she asked me ta come up with a story based on some character designs of hers. Can ya see it? Me - a writer?"

The haiku promptly shot to mind.

"I can't imagine." Raphael grumbled under his breath.

"I really do wanna write something someday, maybe about us brothers… where _we_ are the _heroes_ , y'know? Everything we've done and seen. How could ya not wanna share that? Just like Admiral Sandstorm and Doctor Glass in 'Desert Warriors'... but about the four of _us_. That'd be sweet. But there's a whole lotta other junk I wanna do. Like go kite-surfing on a sunny day. Have her there. She'd be wearing a bikini...and yeah. It'd be alright, man."

"Does this _girl_ have a name?"

"Name? Oh, yeah… xRideOnTime99x."

"That's her _name_?"

Michelangelo let the question drift by unnoticed as a very different mental image suddenly overwhelmed him, " _Argh._..why did she send that picture... it's _killing_ me."

Raphael, never one to turn down the chance to admire a pretty girl, lifted his head.

"Wait - what photo?"

Michelangelo twisted his head and looked Raphael approvingly, "Oh, man. It is _hot_."

"Maybe y'should take another a minute and cool down there, bro."

"I'm cool, bro. I am so cool. I am so, so-" he took a deep breath, promptly shattering any facade of self-containment, "freakin' icy. Brrr. Anyway, if we're still talking about wishing for anything, I'd probably also get a pet tiger. No offence, Klunk," he prodded the tabby ball curled at the foot of his bed. Deep in sleep and unconcerned with the sentiment, the little cat stretched out a quivering forearm and settled back into a furry coil. Michelangelo gave a wistful sigh. "I can't wait to start on our comic book. I think I'm gonna make the two main characters fall for each other...I'll call one 'Rider', and the other one 'Miguel'. Think she'll notice?"

As he had been talking, Raphael's stomach had dropped uneasily. His brother seemed to always forget to hold up those walls of self-preservation. The walls that kept out the raging surge of disillusionment. Because they could never be part of the world of humans. Not like that. No matter how hard they wished, nor on how many stars. It was the one thing they could all be certain of.

"Mikey… maybe ya shouldn't think about that stuff."

A strange look crossed over Michelangelo's face.

"Why not? It's like, _romantic_ or something? Right?"

"Geez, Mikey. I'm not talkin' about that."

Raphael stopped there. What he meant didn't need to be said. He felt as if he'd crushed the skull of some naïve bunny even getting as far as he did. His observation landed. Michelangelo grunted and rocked over using the slope of his shell over to lie on his front, sinking into the soft blanket where his shell had been depressed. He jabbed a finger towards Raphael hard enough to rip holes in the air.

"That's your problem, Raph. You won't even let yourself _think_ anything could be good could happen. I know that they're just stupid dreams. So what? That's why they're called 'dreams' and not 'bad pepperoni'. Besides…" he added as an aside, "they kinda go ta places that I like. If ya know what I'm saying."

"Listen, Mikey. There's _zero_ chance of any of that happenin'. I hate to say it, but yer just settin' yourself up for disappointment."

A heavy sigh escaped Michelangelo. He flopped back down onto his mattress.

"Bro, you just don't get it."

Raphael bristled. Like _hell_ he didn't get it. He'd spent over twenty years understanding every nuance in all its painful glory. That everything that was a standard requirement to living topside was denied to them. That they'd have to scrape a living in the sewers. That the opposite sex, and all the sides that came with them, may as well be unicorns to them.

"You think so, huh? Explain to me _exactly_ what I'm not _gettin_ ' here, cause I'd really like ta hear what ya got to say."

Sitting up, Michelangelo let out a disbelieving laugh. He waved his hand around the room, sweeping over the disheveled stacks of comics, and moldy fast food containers. The skateboards and frayed movie posters. The custom figurines he'd painstakingly modified and painted. It landed by his desk where he had scribbled words and pictures over collated scraps of paper. The jumble of his life.

"What do you even think of this place, Raph? Open your eyes, man. Look around. I just don't get how you don't love what we _have_... I'd rather be here than _anywhere_. I mean, do you still think we just live in a sewer? To me it's home. And it's the biggest one in the city. We're not paying taxes, or working crappy jobs to survive. We get to learn _this_ ," he slapped a nunchacku holstered at his side, "and get to do things half the people up there never get the chance ta do. And you know what else? I don't even think everyone up there is against us. That some dreams actually come true sometimes. Even for us. Ya get what I'm getting at here?"

The words sparked a blight of contradiction in Raphael's mind.

"We don't have a _choice. That's_ the difference."

Michelangelo shook his head in disagreement.

"Nuh-uh. We get to choose how we _see_ it."

"Yeah? Well, you can ride yer delusion train to any city ya want, but I'm not hoppin' on."

The sour assessment began to seep into Michelangelo. His shoulders dropped as he went momentarily silent. Thinking. Ingesting the words before crushing them under an optimism so powerful that they reformed into stars that glittered alight in the darkest parts of his mind. Raphael watched enviously as the cloud of despair quickly passed over him. _If only I could do that so easily..._

A small grin tugged at Michelangelo's mouth.

"Huh. I bet you don't know what you'd even do if you lived up there instead of..." he pointed to the floor before catching his brother's eye.

Raphael paused for inspection. The truth was that he _had_ thought about it. A long time ago. But then he screwed those thoughts up, set them on fire and smashed them up against the wall. Old habits died hard, he guessed. Because wishing was pointless. If wishes were stitches, he'd be a goddamned scarecrow. He glanced down at his sutured calf. Yeah, he was just about a scarecrow alright.

"Why would I waste my time worryin' about that shit?"

Michelangelo gave a low chuckle, propping himself up onto his elbow.

"You are such a liar, my brutha. Almost as bad as Leo. _Almost_."

A dark look from Raphael almost knocked him back. Trying again, Michelangelo gave him a gentle nudge.

"Raph?"

" _What?_ " coming out a little harsher than Raphael had meant.

"You can tell me, Raph. It's in the vault. Mikey's vault. Five locks, three passwords, and a laser sentinel. This thing is locked up tighter than Leo's butt."

Raphael let forth a derisive scoff. Whenever his brothers tried "handle" him, things usually degenerated at a rapid pace. Oddly enough, Michelangelo was usually more successful than not. Possibly because his concern felt without judgment, just the honest interest of someone who wanted everyone to be deliriously happy. He shook his head.

"From memory, one good arm twist and ya sing like a canary."

"No, no. You must be thinking of the _outer_ vault. I'm talking about the _inner_ vault. The vault in the vault." Michelangelo was rolled his hands around in a circular motion, valiantly trying to illustrate the levels of his secret retaining abilities. "It goes pretty deep, dude. There are a lot of levels. I mean...we could end up in limbo."

"What the _in the hell_ are you talkin' about?"

"You've never seen-" Michelangelo shook his head at Raphael's blank expression, "...never mind. What I'm saying is that you can tell me. It's _safe_. This is a safe place." he reiterated as he swirled a finger around his room. Only the decrepit 'Melting Man' and 'Ghoulies' posters tacked to the walls seemed to disagree.

A twinge of remorse gnawed Raphael. The stool creaked as he shifted his weight. He dug his toes into the cracks on the filthy floor. How the hell was it that Mikey always managed to lead him to places he liked to bury under a mountain of deliberate suppression and alcohol only to hand him a shovel and tell him to start digging? But he knew Michelangelo well enough to know one thing - when pushed towards a dark place, he reached desperately towards the camaraderie and solidarity of his brothers, just for a mote of reassurance that their lives meant something, even if only to each other. Something that Raphael quietly believed was what drove Michelangelo toward his constant need for attention. There was an edge of pleading in his voice, begging for something to cling onto. And as easy as it would have been to push him over the edge, Raphael knew he wasn't enough of an asshole to do it. Not to Mikey. He sighed. He couldn't believe he was about to say this.

"Maybe there was somethin'. _Was_." he admitted, "But who the fuck cares now?"

Noticing his hesitation, Michelangelo interjected-

"Let me guess - a hot off the line road bike - Kawasaki, maybe? I've seen ya drooling all over those things in ya magazines."

Raphael snorted, "Sure. If that's what ya want ta hear. Throw in that photo of ya girl and we'll be talkin'."

"Eat it, man. That one's all mine.'' Mikey fired back with a grin. "That it?"

"That's what I said." Raphael reaffirmed with a curt nod. That was it. They were the first things that had popped into his head and he knew straight away that they were true. The raw admission had unnerved him and left him craving a cigarette.

"But you could totally have those things. I mean, you already have a bike..." Michelangelo trailed off, realizing at once that his argument had a huge gaping hole.

Raphael pressed his mouth together, leveling an inscrutable stare upon his brother. Yeah, he had a bike alright. A rusty 1984 Honda piece of shit that Donatello had strung back together with duct tape and hope. Not that he wasn't grateful for it. But hidden down deep he knew that what he wanted more than anything was someone to hold on tight to, someone to tell him that there was nothing wrong with him, so that for a moment - just a moment - he might believe it.

"Fuck this. I'm goin' out for a walk." he tapped his belt pouch, knowing he had jammed a Malboro Red down there earlier. With any luck he hadn't snapped it.

"Where to?"

"None 'a yer business." he hopped up onto his feet and began pacing towards the door, kicking a skateboard from his path. It smacked up against the bookshelf shuddering the tightly packed comics therein.

"Raph?"

Raphael stopped mid-step and turned back to face his brother with a flutter of irritation. His blood was singing for nicotine and his mood fouling by the second.

Michelangelo waited a moment, gauging his face to see if it were safe to continue.

"There's nothing wrong with it. What you want, I mean."

With a tight grin, Raphael dropped his head, swinging it stiffly to and fro. He took a deep breath and looked up at the stonework on the ceiling. Webs had collected like veils across the shadowy corners from the hundreds of spiders infesting in the crevices. His skin crawled at the thought of them lurking so close, but Michelangelo never could bring himself to kill them. Or any innocent critter for that matter. From nowhere, a strange memory cropped up: The 'roach farm.

 _Ugh...the 'roach farm, I did him a fuckin' favor throwin' that shit into the deepest parts of the sewer._

Raphael blinked, and once again he was standing in his brother's room.

"This. This here." he said looking around at the room and meaning the lair, "I'm used to it. No sense expecting anythin' else, cause all ya gonna get is more shit filled pipes."

He slammed a closed fist against the wall to demonstrate.

"But anything could happen." Michelangelo said - _pleaded_ , almost, "I mean… we're tight with April and Case, right? Who coulda ever seen that when we were just little turtlehoppers?"

"Yeah, well, that's the exception. The two in ten million exception. Everthin' else...that's the rule, bro."

"Even me?"

Raphael thought he'd leave him something to mull on.

"Put it this way: yer such a perfect pain in the ass, Mikey, anythin' else would be a _major_ step down."

Michelangelo grinned and took it like a compliment - which coming from Raphael, it sort of was. He reached over and picked up can of deodorant from his bedside table and tossed it over to his brother. Axe ninja. Vile as the sewers itself. It tumbled through the air before Raphael snapped it up. A look of guilt crossed him.

 _He knows I smoke. Fuck..._

Michelangelo couldn't help but chuckle.

"You better take that, bro. 'Cause if I can smell it, you can bet your butt Splinter can."

"Uh...how did ya-"

"It's the pocket tap. Gives it away every time. Well, that, and coughing ya wheezy shell all over the place."

Raphael grunted in reply, a little taken aback at something having the blindingly obvious pointed out to him.

"Well, fuck me."

"Yeah - I'm gonna have to pass on that one."

"Smartass."

"Dumbass."

He turned to leave as Michelangelo sung out a final request behind him.

"Wanna co-op on a l'il Helix Prime later? We can go up against Leo and Don and get the mega split screen working!"

 _'_ _Helix Prime'_. The blood-lusting video game that they'd spent many hour playing on their cracked CRT television array, and one that was almost the proverbial downfall of Michelangelo, able to engross him in a way little else could. To the point even his training had fallen by the wayside in favor of imaginary enemies. Like the real ones weren't enough.

"Why bother? Yer know we're gonna smack those pussies down in two minutes flat."

"I dunno, dude. Leo's been practicing."

Raphael paused in the doorway. Of course his perfect brother had been practicing. Even on a fucking video game.

"Don't gimme the shitty controller this time, or I'll crack ya shell open."

He heard his brother give a doubtful cackle.

"If ya can catch me, dude!"

Yeah, well that was another issue. Try catching the wind.

Raphael exited the room into the fresher air of the main living quarters, limping through a trail of his own blood droplets. He flipped the deodorant can up along the inner part of his forearm in paltry attempt to conceal it from the sharp eyes that loved to, for some inexplicable reason, track his every movement and lecture him on it. Or worse: frown disapprovingly. Little ticked him off more than the implied superiority of someone _disapproving_ of something he did. And Leonardo just happened to be the prized pupil in that department. No surprises there. His eyes scanned across the room and over the worn furniture sitting opposite the stacked TV's that formed the entertainment hub. No-one here save him. It reminded him of a stupid question Michelangelo had asked him once - _Say ya walk into an empty room, Raphie, is it still empty?_ Raphael hadn't missed a beat: _It is if it's you._ He chuckled at the memory, and then as if spitefully from nowhere, his earlier conversation with Michelangelo sprung back into mind. He felt a strange quiver hovering in the back of his head, of a woman's warm` arms wrapped around him, of sweet promises trickled into his ear, before quickly recollecting his thoughts.

 _Shake it off, Raph, for Christ's sake. Don't let it get in._

Raphael shuddered, trying to rid himself of the prevailing sentimentality. Because he knew that any time he let something good in, the shit would rain down ten times harder. Such was life for them. And so he had trained himself over the years to never feel it, to rid himself of the pointless wishes that no-one was answering. But even he was not always immune to his little brother optimistic meanderings, which could be dangerously contagious, able wheedle past the safeguards and over the walls. Michelangelo. Always breaking through.

Though Raphael didn't know it at the time, it was those little cracks that made his heart more resilient; able to withstand far more extremes than he could ever imagine. Donatello had once explained that was how it worked, how strength grew: A thousand tears of the muscle, reknitted and made stronger.

...


	3. Kitten and Monkey

KITTEN AND MONKEY

"Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop."

― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

...

"You always did like buggin' me more than the others. Splinter told me it was 'cause you looked up to me or somethin'. Some brother I turned out to be, huh? Always tellin' ya to make yerself scarce." Raphael forced out a hollow chuckle, "Remember that book, when we were kids? The one with the gorilla and the kitten. 'Koko somethin'...You remember how you used to want me ta read it all the time? 'Cause Donnie an' Leo'd just read it word for word from start ta finish. You'd just glaze over, yank out of their hands an' bring it ta me. Back then you couldn't even talk, ya'd just garble. And I couldn't read properly so I just made up a different story every time. There was this one picture in there that used ta scare ya for no reason. Remember that?"

...

" _Ra-ph_."

A plum-sized fist tapped the book cradled against Michelangelo's unmarred plastron. Barely two feet high, short green limbs, and full of untamed energy, he spent most of his time shadowing the one brother who couldn't get less of him.

Raphael shot a glare upwards from the bed, where he was lying flat on his front. In his hand was a rolled up section of scrap paper, dwindling in size as bright yellow flame consumed it. He shook it out with a flick of his wrist and dropped the smoldering paper into a bucket of murky water beside him, drowning it to nothingness.

"Get outta here, Mikey. I read it to ya last night."

Michelangelo tried again, his tone more insistent.

" _Ree-ead?_ "

Raphael had hit limit of being bugged by his all-but-mute younger brother and his stupid book. Even if he had ten fingers it would not be enough to count the times he had read the damn thing.

"Geez – I said get _lost_."

He swiveled around and got to his feet, trying to usher his brother out. If he could sense where this was going, he didn't need evidence lying around when Splinter arrived.

"Plea-se." Michelangelo's small voice insisted again.

 _Great, he's not lettin' up. Typical. Barely utters a word when the others are around, and can't stop pesterin' me._

A flicker of annoyance shuffled over Raphael's face, as he grasped up the bucket handle and quickly lifted it to the far side of his bed, being careful not to slosh an ounce of the filthy water over the rim. He placed it down slowly, and then swept the small pile of kindling under his bed in one scoop. Evidence neatly hidden away, he called out irritably to his father. Though young, his strong voice carried easily throughout the lair.

"Splinter! Mikey's annoyin' me again!"

From the distance came their master's gravelly reply:

"Read your brother the story, Raphael. It settles him when you do."

Raphael let go a quiet growl with a backwards slump of his head, his arms falling limply by his sides. How did Splinter know what Mikey had wanted? Could he hear him talking? More likely it was because everyone knew how much his little brother had been fixated on this particular book. It was practically the only time he made a peep. Thinking quickly, Raphael quashed his irritation and turned his attention back to his pudgy brother.

"Did ya hear that?" he hissed lowly, "He said ta buzz off an' leave me alone."

The crease in Michelangelo's little forehead deepened, _"No!"_

Raphael snorted.

"Oh, so ya know that word, do ya? Well, forget it. I ain't readin' it. I'm sick of that stupid book and that stupid kitten. Wanna know what _really_ happens? Yeah. I heard Donnie. The cat bites it. The end. So get lost."

Raphael folded his arms, satisfied he had said enough to get rid of his pesky baby brother. Hopefully permanently.

"Ge- _t_ lo- _st_." Michelangelo repeated before falling to the ground in a heap of tiny giggles. He rolled onto his side, repeating the words, giving meaning to the noises that rolled off his tongue.

"Lo-st, Raph... get lo-st."

Raphael's face reddened as the burn of self-recognition snaked up his face.

"Ya copyin' me? Ya little... _GRRR_!"

Raphael stomped over to his brother on the ground and ripped the book out of his hands. The reaction was instant- Michelangelo releasing an almighty wail as his plump fingers tried helplessly to reach for his beloved treasure. Raphael arched the book high in the air and let out menacing chuckle for good measure:

"It's mine now, and soon it's gonna be a pile of _ash_!"

" _No!_ "

 _Punch._

Raphael knew he had pushed his brother over the edge. He winced. The blow landed firmer than he had expected.

"NO!"

 _Punch._ That one actually hurt.

 _"_ _Pleeese_. Reeed." Michelangelo insisted between distressed tears.

It was the most complete sentence Raphael had ever heard his brother say.

"So ya can talk. " Raphael drawled incredulously, "Boy, are you slow. I bet you'll be the slowest at everythin'."

" _Raphael!_ " Splinter's irritated voice thundered down the hall.

The patter of their master's steady and discerning footsteps began echo down the short hall and approach the room. Being towards the rear of the hall had allowed Raphael few luxuries, one of them being the extra milliseconds before their sensei arrived. Raphael's eyes widened in dread as he swung the book behind him.

"Keep ya trap shut." Raphael warned Michelangelo with a hiss.

The pinned doorway curtain was thrown aside by a seemingly invisible force. In its place, their master appeared standing fully upright, his gleaming brown fur peeking out from beneath his clean robe. His sharp eyes swiveled over the sparse room of barbarically destroyed items before landing heavily down as his little hell-raiser of a son.

"What is going on in here?"

The question was nothing short of a command to answer.

"N-Nothin' Master Splinter."

Their sensei twitched his nose, wrinkling it in distaste the unmistakable smell of char. His leaned his arm out, claw tips clicking impatiently on the brick voussoir.

"Have you been burning things again? What have I told you about that?"

Raphael braced himself.

"I..."

"C-can Raph rea-d t-to Mikey?" his youngest said insistently, standing by his brother's side, as the words almost tripped off his tongue. Splinter's wispy brows shot up in elation, encouraged by the spate of new words coming from his son's normally silent mouth.

"Yes, of course he will read to you, little one." Splinter said kindly, "He will read every night until further notice."

"What! That's not fair!"

Splinter's ears flicked back in annoyance.

"It is more than fair, Raphael. If you had done so in the first place, we would not be standing here arguing about it now. But still you have trouble grasping the concept that certain actions have consequences. You may still be young, but you are old enough to understand as much."

" _But_ -"

"Enough! No buts!"

From nowhere came a little giggle from Michelangelo. At the curious sound Splinter momentarily diverted his attention to give an upwards flick of his wispy brow. Raphael soon pulled the focus back:

"I didn't do anythin' _wrong_!"

Splinter shook his head, his tone dropping.

"Is that so? Give me those matches you are hiding and we will more talk about fair and wrong. _Now_." he commanded gruffly, uncurling his long fingers.

Raphael's shoulders dropped as he walked over to his master and pulled the matchbook from his _obi_. He placed them face down in his master's palm before slinking back beside his baby brother. Michelangelo twisted his head slightly, trying to comfort him with a meek grin.

Splinter glanced down at his hand.

"Where do you even find these things, my son?"

He crushed them, the tinder matches snapping within. Despite forbidding them from leaving the lair without his supervision, he knew their curiosity could not be dampened. The evidence was as plain as a matchbook.

"Nowhere, sensei..." Raphael mumbled, trying to focus on tiny crack in the floor in which a speck of cinder had fallen.

With a disappointed toss of his head, Splinter spoke.

"I cannot stress how incredibly dangerous it is to be burning things in our home. You risk all our lives with such foolish behavior. It is incredibly easy for the spark of a tiny match to become a raging fire. Even the few possessions we own would be destroyed, and we do not have many things to lose. Least of all each other. Do you understand, Raphael?"

" _Hai_ , sensei."

Splinter's eyes bored into his son, trying to sense if he was sincerely repentant for his actions. With Raphael, it was always difficult to split between his placated defiance and his humble remorse. He released a weighted sigh, followed by a brisk nod.

"Good." he affirmed, "Now in order to learn more about the importance of family, and as I have instructed you earlier, you are to read to Michelangelo every evening for the remainder of the month."

Raphael's head dropped but not before he flicked a scalding glare over to his baby brother. Michelangelo was still standing by his side, quietly observing what was going on. _Brat._ He was probably enjoying this, watching him get in trouble.

"Yes, sensei." Raphael scowled, firmly facing the floor.

He dug his toes into the cement cracks, crushing the specks of ash along it. His feet were strange. He knew it. He had seen many people walk past the gutters in the summer. Humans had so many toes, and were such a strange array of colors. Nothing like his own.

A tick passed and Splinter's brow shot up in agitation. From where he stood he could hear the grating squeaks of his son's teeth grinding.

" _Now_ , Raphael."

"Yes, sensei."

.

They crawled up into Raphael's unmade bunk and leaned against the graffitied brickwork. Raphael grabbed the pillows by the head of his bed and shoved one beneath the lower curve of Michelangelo's shell, propping themselves up more comfortably. With a sudden spiteful movement, he swung his arm back, pinning Michelangelo against the wall. Smooth carapace cracked against brick.

"If I'm doin' this, no cryin'. _Got it_?"

Michelangelo returned a small dip of his head. Satisfied, Raphael nodded before dropping his arm.

"Ya _sure?_ "

"Mmm." came the almost inaudible confirmation.

Raphael turned to the first page, glancing down with boredom. The pictures he could understand, but aside from the occasional word, the writing still mostly appeared as incomprehensible scribbles to him. And he had _tried_ to learn, that was what made him so incensed - he had spent hours glaring furiously down at paper as if waiting for the ink to talk, but the damn things just wouldn't stick in his brain. Not like for Donnie or Leo, no, they were spouting the words like a water from a drain in a thunderstorm - especially Donnie, who had advanced to passages of text… without pictures, even. _There's just so much to take in,_ he had often said. Raphael had leveled him with a punch to the plastron and told him to add it to the collection.

And so the only small victory Raphael found was in being in a better position than Michelangelo. The kid could barely talk, let alone read. To compensate for his lack of ability, he had instead learned to devise the story on the fly, explaining the pictures to whatever mood took his fancy. More often than not, violent and gory- partially because he liked it, but mostly because he could tell t _Michelangelo_ liked it, capturing his attention where all other methods had failed.

They flipped breezily through first the ten pages as Raphael kept the story limited to brawls between cats and monkeys, explaining with several complex grunts the most basic of outlines: That a cat had become the indebted warrior of the gorilla, a merciless villain. Nearing the end at page eleven is where it started all going awry. The picture adorning this page was merely that of a large gorilla, sitting bow-legged and staring forlornly from its caged cell. It was usually at this point Raphael would divert maliciously from the story. He flicked his eyes over at Michelangelo. A quiver of fear passed over his tiny face. Anticipating what was coming next, he tugged at Raphael's arm for reassurance.

"'s okay, Mikey" Raphael comforted with a modicum of empathy, "Don't forget ya _promised_ not ta cry."

" _Scary_." Michelangelo whispered timidly as he pressed himself closer to his brother, trying to edge behind brother's bulk. Raphael felt a twinge of compassion in the way only Michelangelo could evoke. But as usual his response came out far more callous than he intended it. He slapped the page.

"Yeah, it's gonna get scary, but I'm right here, okay? So quit it."

Nodding, Michelangelo dropped his voice to a frightened murmur.

" _Mm_." The sound was meek and disbelieving.

Unconvinced, Raphael squeezed him harder: "What was that?"

" _Nex' page_." he said, a little stronger this time.

Raphael placed his fingers on the paper and slid the page over with deliberate slowness. After a cursory glance at the picture that so often terrified Michelangelo, the story took an insidious turn.

"Then the monkey became a vampire, and started cravin' _blood!_ See those fangs? Yeah, they'll get ya all right, Mikey. Suck ya up like a milkshake. _And_ he could walk through walls. So there was no escapin' him. And guess what he liked most of all? That's right - little baby turtles. Like _you_."

Silenced into quivering terror, Michelangelo stared in quiet awe at the book's illustration before burying his head into Raphael's arm.

"Boy, you don't like those monsters, eh, Mikey? Don't worry. Just do what I say and it won't eat ya."

Raphael flipped the next page. His eyes wandered placidly across the final image as he brought the story to an abrupt end.

"But then they found another kitten an' things went back the same. The end."

He snapped the book shut.

Safe from the menacing picture, Michelangelo's trembling hand reached out to touch the picture on the back cover, his eyes growing wide with wonder.

" _Kin_?" he mumbled inquisitively.

"No, ya sayin' it wrong. Kit- _ten_. Got it? Ya gotta say the 't'." Raphael flipped over to the front cover of the book, jabbing his index finger separately at the two creatures: "Monkey...kitten. Any baby should get that."

Michelangelo looked quizzically down at the picture, wriggling his four pudgy toes in thought. He sucked at his lip, letting the wise words of his older brother filter in and find shelf space in his brain. Donatello, whom happened to be walking by Raphael's room at that moment, paused to poke his head through the doorway, lifting the face mask he had curiously attached over his mouth.

"'I couldn't help but overhear - it's called a _gorilla_ , Raph."

Raphael brushed off the interruption with an irritated flicker upwards.

"No, it's called _knockin'_."

"The curtain was open...and you're reading to-"

"Yeah. And?"

Donatello made a soft noise of assent and cast a furtive glance over at his baby brother, whom was still gripping at Raphael like a stranded barnacle. Heavens knew why Michelangelo gravitated to Raphael for comfort, he couldn't help but wonder, he had practically been ninety-nine percent of the reason behind all his upsets. From the snide remark to the occasional elbow knock, Raphael couldn't have made it more clear that he wasn't a fan of the adoration.

 _It must be nice_ , Donatello thought forlornly, _to have someone look up to you like that. No matter how blindly and misplaced the attention._

"He might get confused if you teach him the wrong thing. That monkey is definitely a gorilla." He changed his tone, clearly speaking to his younger brother, "Got that, Mikey? It's a gorilla. Go- _rill_ -a."

Annoyed at the continuing interference to the punishment he had now claimed ownership of, Raphael lashed out.

"You're the one confusin' him. I'm readin', here. Not you."

Donatello glanced at the small stack of damaged magazines in his brother's room, most of which had pages torn out and burnt. Partly because of Raphael's desire to destroy things he couldn't understand, and partly because of his disturbing tendencies to set things on fire. Including the electrical circuit plans he had been drafting to use in the lair. He raised skeptical brow.

"Yeah. _Reading_. Sure, Raph."

With a low growl, Raphael picked up the first blunt heavy object he could grasp - a short plank of wood he'd been carving his name into with a sai - and launched it at his brother's head. Donatello ducked just in time as it crashed into the wall with a resounding clatter.

"Raph! What the heck!"

"Beat it. My room, my rules." Raphael growled, much to the delight of Michelangelo who'd began mimicking his older brother's fury.

" _Bea'_ it."

"You heard 'im." Raphael jerked a thumb to where Michelangelo sat enraptured at their fiery exchange.

" _Mikey!"_ Donatello threw his arms up, "Fine. It's a monkey. What would I know?" He wandered out with a frustrated shake of his head, lowering his self-constructed breathing mask back over his face.

"And please keep out of _m_ y room," his muffled voice trailed behind him, "I'm mixing some chemicals and the last thing I want in there is an open flame."

"Yeah? Well, _you too_!" Raphael shouted after him, then growled at his pathetic attempt at a comeback.

 _So what if Donnie can already read and write? What would he know?_ His eyes remained glued to the door as he spoke from the corner of his mouth.

"Don't listen to him, Mikey. It's a _monkey_."

Michelangelo looked back down at the picture on the front cover, poking a finger no larger than a cornichon towards the picture of the ginger kitten. He lit up at the sight of the small creature, fuzzy and soft, with eyes like tiny aqua marbles. Raphael wasn't surprised that his brother had been drawn back to the picture. Michelangelo always did have an obsessive affinity for all earth's creatures - some of them, unfortunately, not exactly creatures of earth any longer. How many times had Michelangelo "rescued" dead goldfish from the sewer drains and kept them in cups inside the lair? If they were lucky they found them _before_ they started drinking.

"K...Klunk? Klunky?"

Raphael gave a small sigh, "Forget it. Now ya mixin' all the words up."

Again, the tiny hand pointed at the picture, this time at the large gorilla.

" _Raph._ "

Michelangelo cheeks dimpled at his own joke. Raphael pulled the book away with a hostile yank.

"No, you little... Raph _not_ monkey."

Raphael frowned, aware he'd just talked to Michelangelo like a baby. But Michelangelo wasn't a baby, exactly...just a little _delayed_. Maybe that's why he followed him around so much. They were the stupid ones. Hell. So they might be stupid, but at least they weren't boring or stuck up.

Tossing the book to the floor, Raphael's face morphed into a snarl. He slowly craned his neck towards his brother. "Or _am_ I? RAAHHHHH!"

He pounced up onto his feet and began beating his plastron with clenched fists, transforming into a gorilla before Michelangelo's astonished eyes.

"I'm gonna suck ya _blood!_ " Raphael gnashed his teeth and twisted his hands into claws before honing in on his baby brother.

Delighted, Michelangelo squealed and crawled to his feet.

"No bite me!"

"Jump, Mikey! It's the only way you can beat the monster!"

Together they began bouncing on the ailing mattress. At first Michelangelo kept tumbling down, only to roll back up along the curve of his shell.

"Good one, Mikey. Keep goin'!"

The springs beneath them heaved and creaked under their weight as the two began to jump as high as they could possibly muster. Organs jolted in their bodies.

"Try hittin' the roof!" Raphael shouted, "Go up!"

Michelangelo strained to reach upwards, virtually seeing the roof in his grasp despite all attempts to touch it.

" _Up!"_ he screeched in excitement, loud enough to make even Raphael take notice.

He yelled it with each bounce on the bed, his mask tails flying up and down like an orange whip, snapping at every turn.

" _Up...up...up!_ "

With each upwards thrust they attempted to strike the ceiling, falling well short of its gargantuan height. But within moments, the inexhaustible younger brother had seemed to have found a sweet spot on the bed.

"You can do it, Mikey!" Raphael shouted, "Ya ready? _REACH_!"

Suddenly Michelangelo felt himself being gripped around the waist and tossed towards the ceiling. He gave a victorious cry as his fingers brushed the rough grain of the bricks.

"I gotcha!"

Michelangelo crashed back down into his arms, but it was of no use. Together they tumbled from the mattress into a heap of jumbled limbs and hoots of laughter.

A long form that had entered during the caucus loomed over them. Falling silent, the brothers looked up to see a subtle grin creeping up on the face of their master. Whiskers twitched in amusement, the spindly shadow flittering over them.

"This is a very peculiar way of reading, my son."

Raphael was catching his breath but grinning madly. They were the fun ones, alright.

"We finished, sensei."

Michelangelo's head bobbed up and down in agreement, "Sen-sei. We read. We finish book."

Splinter blinked in astonishment before reaching down with strong hands and lifting his youngest to to his chest.

"My son, I am very proud you have chosen this day to talk with us."

"I touched th'roof!" Michelangelo confided with a grin, wrapping his small arms around his father's neck. Splinter felt his son's small warm breaths rustle his fur as he buried his face into his shoulder: "Raph h-help me."

It had been a long worrisome road for Splinter, wondering if his son would ever develop past the smattering of words he had spoken since the mutation. Surviving the world as mutants would be rough, even with a fully developed mind. But all his fears suddenly vanished the moment he had spied them behaving more like chimps than the turtles he was _almost_ certain they were. He squeezed Michelangelo tightly, the small olive bundle that claimed in the tenderest spot in his heart, and placed him gently back on the ground.

Splinter nodded.

"Yes, my son. He did indeed."

...

It had been a turning point, that day, and Raphael remembered it well. From that moment the words seemed to multiply, falling from Michelangelo's mouth in droves, and within months it was like he was making up for lost time. And over the years it had been just as unrelenting:

 _Raph? Do ya wanna eat this slice of pizza? It only fell on the floor for like, three seconds... three minutes, tops._

 _Raph? Did ya drink that juice I left in the fridge? You know I backwashed that, right?_

 _Raph? Can I borrow ya sai for a sec? The itch down my cast is driving me nuts._

 _Raph? Outta curiosity – are you strongly attached to the coffee mug that April got you on ya birthday? Unrelated question - do ya have any superglue?_

 _Raph? Before ya go out busting skulls with Case, would now be a bad time ta tell ya there were laxatives in ya jelly donut? No?_

 _Raph? Ya look like ya woke up this morning and saw Leo in the mirror, hehe - OW!_

 _Raph? Why did the chicken cross the road? To watch your butt get owned in training this morning - HEYOOO! Aghhh! Don't hit me!_

 _Raph? Pull my finger._

 _Raph?_

"Christ- _s_ hut _up_ , Mikey!"

Raphael had uttered it an seemingly infinite amount of times since then. So much so, that anyone listening in might have thought it his name: 'ShutupMikey'.

"No butts." Raphael repeated quietly to himself, "I think I just got it."

…

A/N: Thanks for following along! This is my first foray into the realm of turtle tots (chibi)... I think. I hope you enjoyed it :)


	4. The Climb

A/N: Apologies for the massive delay, there is a lot more to come, sitting around half-baked and everything (the story, not me... I swear). I think the chronological order has been thrown out the window, but it is what it is! Thanks to everyone following this one along. As always, I appreciate any feedback. Now, without further ado, please enjoy!

* * *

 _THE CLIMB_

 _We were only seventeen, for Christsakes. Kids. We thought we were invincible. What would we know?_

* * *

They moved briskly in the night along the jumbled smattering of rooftops at Michelangelo's insistence. He wanted them to see something, he said, and gave little clue as to what.

"Just you _wait_ , man. It'll be so worth it."

And so they ran, racing into the bitter evening, knocking against old water towers as they tagged each other in a nonsense game; skimming stairwells and scaling rickety fire escape ladders against the grey backdrop of the evening city sky before hurtling themselves further forward. All the while Michelangelo brimmed with excitement, and against their better judgment they let it infect them, their curiosity moving them as much as the desire to keep warm. Somehow they kept pace, trying to outrun one another amid empty threats and taunts ( _"Last one there mutated from a tortoise!",_ " _Missed again, Shell for Brains!_ ") until at last they arrived at the turret of a rather unremarkable complex that offered a slivered view of the city's heart. The autumnal gales bit into their bare skin and they braced against its icy chill, failing to see what Michelangelo could see. Raphael stood beside his youngest brother, freezing, but trying not to let it show. Only the bluish tinges on his extremities gave any indication of his discomfort. He turned to him irritably.

" _Well_?" He sniffed at the rank air, cold smoked with exhaust fumes from the crawling traffic below.

"There it is." Mikey said around his chattering teeth; pointing it out while his other arm hugged tightly against himself, "The one with the tower on top of it. They just put up a new building across from it, and I betcha we can up there now. We jump off that building there, grapple to the roof there. Use our _shiko_ spikes to get to the ledge over there and BLAMO! We're at the top of a skyscraper." His free arm swung up, one finger pointing to the starry sky."And that's another one ta cross off _The List_."

The others groaned among themselves.

"The _list_? Really, Mikey? I thought you'd lost that." Donatello objected, "Or _forgotten_ about it at least."

"Nuh-uh. I got that thing on lock-down," He tapped his head, " _Up here_."

Ah, The List. A compilation of high-rises that Michelangelo had written when he was twelve that documented all the buildings he wanted to scale. _Like Spiderman_ , he had said at the time. To his credit and unrelenting pestering, they had made it atop a few locations from The List: most notably the flat-iron (that had almost ended messily), and even ones that were patrolled by 24/7 security. It had only taken six months before that obsession faded into the annuls of history – or so they had thought. Now, out of nowhere, the idea had resurrected in his circus of a brain.

Michelangelo picked at his elbow straps in anticipation, looking to each of his brothers with animated sparkle in his eyes. Raphael was the first to break the silence:

"No way. Can't be done."

Leonardo turned to glower at them, his blue mask tails flailing out like pennants in the cold draft. The proposal glimmered in his mind, but his sense of leadership reigned him back in.

"Just to get to the top? It's too risky. If one of us falls…"

Raphael was quick to dismiss his concerns. If anything, their leader's disapproval not only reversed but _cemented_ his decision. What did he think they were? Amateurs?

"Ya don't have ta join us, chief. You comin', Don?"

The invitation was all but a taunt. Donatello fractionally tilted his head, assessing the communications tower perched dazzlingly high atop their intended target. Tonight just happened to offer the chance to witness a much heralded celestial event - the encroachment of the full moon within a degree of Jupiter. Thinking ahead, he had packed his compact telescope. A conflicted sigh slipped from between his lips. The roof of the skyscraper would be the perfect observational platform - just an arm's reach from the heavens themselves. But his decision flip-flopped in his mind, reluctant to go against Leonardo's sensible reasoning.

"Well..." he began, glancing back guiltily at Leonardo, "I mean it _is_ high up-"

"No. Don't look at him. Make up yer own goddamned mind."

"C'mon, Donnie, I'm _freezin'_ just standin' around." Michelangelo moaned, "Let's do it. We'll see the whole city from up there!"

With a quick nod, Donatello turned back to their leader.

"Sorry, Leo. I was planning on doing a little star gazing later... and from up there...well, I can't waste an opportunity like that." He tapped the leather duffel bag he had cinched tightly to his shell, "I know we can make it. If we pair up we can back each other along the more dangerous sections of the climb."

Leonardo released a defeated grunt: " _Fine_. But we do it my way. Got it?"

Michelangelo pumped his fist at the victory.

" _Oh yeah!_ We're goin' to da ROOF _!"_

Raphael merely stood firm, before swinging his glare across to Leonardo, all too aware of his brother's ongoing struggle with heights. After twenty stories up he knew Leonardo would be pushing himself to ignore the vertigo. And the dilapidated behemoth Michelangelo had pointed out? Fifty stories. Easy. Free standing and condemned since what seemed the Iron Age for numerous safety violations, it had always seemed too risky to scale. Now, with the 'scraper on its opposite corner, and a ramp of buildings leading to that, they would be over two thirds up without trying.

"Sure." he snarled, as his head slighted downwards, " _Your_ way."

Raphael took off without a backwards glance, barreling past Michelangelo and vanishing into shroud of darkness. His voice echoed around them seconds later.

"Race ya to the top, Mikey!"

Michelangelo's face morphed into a strange combination of shocked and offended. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Yeah? Well you can kiss my rear because that's where you'll be, Raphie!" he turned to his remaining brothers, "What's that... like a twenty second start? Seems fair. Whelp. Gotta go."

And then he was gone.

Only then did Donatello start a light jog, twisting backwards to console to their waysided leader:

"We'd better catch up, or we'll never hear the end of it."

* * *

"You beat me up there, ya little fucker." Raphael chuckled quietly, "You always were quick on ya feet. We were up there in no time flat. And you circled that tower up there giving yerself a goddamed pat on the back for it. Then Don set up his telescope or somethin'. And I lost it at Leo, as per usual. Can't even remember what for. That's the stupid thing. It's like the reasons for my fights don't even stay in my mind half the time, they just leave all the bullshit behind to run riot in my head."

Raphael hung his head and reached up to grab his broad face.

"Maybe I'm more broken than you are, Mikey. Maybe we should just trade places. God knows I owe ya one."

* * *

Stationed far above the city atop the Petroni Ventures building, the wind was far stronger and colder than the surface, racing past their ears with a low howl as if bemoaning its existence. Michelangelo jumped from foot to foot, arms folded tightly across his body, trying to keep his blood pumping in the freezing air by the base of the comms tower. He chewed mindlessly at his gum, the minty scent escaping with each foggy clack of his tongue. Sniffling, he watched as Donatello remained crouched at his telescope's eyepiece, his windbreaker writhing like an eel in the icy gales as he carefully twisted the focusing knob clasped between his numb fingers.

"Hey, D?" The question left his mouth as a peppermint cloud, a prelude to the festive season he adored.

"Mm?"

"Can ya see the north pole with that?"

Donatello released a cynical chortle, not bothering to either answer or lift his gaze. Michelangelo returned an unseen grin.

"Just kiddin', D"

"That's a bigger relief than you know."

He tipped his eye back down to the eyepiece, inspecting the alignment of the telescopes sight meter. Michelangelo's chattering teeth invaded the silence.

"Man, it's cold."

"Hey, it was your idea to come up here."

"Just sayin' - you're the brains of this operation, remind me ta bring cocoa next time."

Donatello's mouth crimped.

"Yeah, I probably wouldn't mention cocoa around Raph. He's itching for blood."

"Haha, yah. The great cocoa incident of '05 ain't ever gonna lose mileage. Anyways. Was kinda hoping the trip up here would take some of the Raph outta Raph. Should'a wished upon a bunch of stars, instead, huh?" he gazed upwards, and fell quiet, then: "Wow. Nice night."

"I must admit," Donatello confided, "It's actually a great night for this: that wind shear has pretty much cleared the sky."

Michelangelo shrugged.

"Why do ya even like looking at the stars so much, anyway? They all kind of look the same. Like someone sneezed up there." his gaze danced across the vast starscape, "A great big sneeze…"

Donatello slowly lifted his head, "Hmm… I don't know. Perspective, maybe? Sometimes you can be looking a whole galaxy, thinking it's just a single star. Or that we are merely drifting by one in a sea of trillions upon trillions. That's pretty amazing to me."

"Dude," he squeezed his thumb and forefinger together, "ya making me about _this_ big."

"Heh. I guess that's just about an accurate description as any."

Michelangelo continued to watch his brother fiddle with his instrument, soon noticing he wasn't even pointing it skywards. He followed the line of the barrel down and widened his eyes in shock. Oh boy, he wasn't-

"Hey, D?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Why are you pointing that thing at April's place?"

Donatello momentarily froze before casting back an innocent look.

"What!? Um..." he stilted his fingers in the air, trying to grasp at some convincingly technical explanation (and failing spectacularly), "I'm ah...I'm not, just trying to adjust the lenses so that they...ah, yeah. So, there's that. And I...um, what did you want, anyway?"

"It's okay, y'know. I like April, too."

The look of innocence shattered. The whole city practically heard it.

" _Relax_." Michelangelo let forth an empathetic chuckle and held his hands up in surrender, "Not like you."

Cold and caught out, Donatello released an exhausted sigh and reached back to rub absently at his neck. There was one memory, he supposed, from the previous year at Casey's farm. The star gazing out there had been magnificent but painful to his skywards fixed neck. It had bothered him for days on end until April had insisted on kneading out the dreadful crick at the crook of his shoulders. Camphor oil and her soothing touch. He could honestly say he hadn't been the same since.

"Is it that obvious?" he muttered, eyes flicking off the edge of the building and over the steep drop to the bustling city lights below.

Michelangelo shrugged. Behind them Leonardo and Raphael were arguing, their heated words and curses flaring up at random.

"Not to those two. They're too caught up in playing follow the leader." He delivered a light-hearted punch onto his brother's arm, "Turns out it was me. I think they're battling it out for second place."

"To be fair, you did have all those energy drinks."

"And what? You didn't have twenty cups of coffee tonight, D?"

"Good point."

"Speaking of pointy points…"

Michelangelo's eyes gravitated upwards as he listened for any sign that Raph and Leo's squabble would transform into a physical meltdown. So far, so good. So _far_.

"I'm not spying on her...I just want you to know that." Donatello pressed down on the eyepiece of the telescope, tilting the objective lens towards the smattering of stars above the city.

Michelangelo raised his brow skeptically, " 'course not, bro."

"I wish I didn't need to say this, but I want to be perfectly clear - I'm _not_ looking through her window. It's just...the moon's passing so close to Jupiter...it doesn't happen every day, and I guess I thought if April was looking at it too, that'd be pretty...great. She told me to keep a look out for her in case she was." His mouth twisted to one side, "Turns out she's not. Her apartment roof's empty. "

"Yeah." Michelangelo nodded sympathetically, "That's really...really..." he frowned, trying to pull out the right word.

Donatello meekly supplied an answer, "Pathetic?"

"No. _Backwards_. That's really backwards, D. You should just, I dunno, talk to her or somethin'? She seems to like that." he went slightly cross-eyed. "Talking. I mean, the girl can _talk_. Blah, blah, science, blah. Geez, April. Take a breath."

It was Donatello's turn to be skeptical. He hugged his arms in thought before lowering himself back down to the eyepiece.

"She's interesting, if you ever bothered listening." he sucked briefly at his lower lip before changing tracks out of tacit self-preservation. "I've only got a small window of time before this happens - about sixteen minutes by my count. You're more than welcome to look if you're willing to wait that long."

Michelangelo hopped up onto the building's narrow stone coping, arms held out for balance, walking along its suicidal edge without a care.

"Sure, just give me a sec though. I think I know how to break-up those two lovebirds over there."

Donatello shot his gaze over to his brothers as yet again they were head-locked in argument he couldn't quite catch the details of. He doubted they were important.

"Your funeral. I'm just surprised that Raph hasn't threatened to throw him over the edge, yet."

"Give it a minute."

As if on cue, Raphael's aggressive snarl evolved into a roar that carried over the wind and to their ears. Donatello head swung slowly side to side:

"Good _grief_."

"The things I do to keep the peace, hey Donnie? And you say I don't pull my weight. Well just _observe_."

A flicker of humor crossed Donatello's face.

"I've never said you don't pull your weight, Mikey. In fact, it's my _observation_ that the most brilliant engineers are usually the most indolent. They seem to be the first to ferret out the path of least resistance, which is beautiful design at its most fundamental level."

Michelangelo agreed with a clack of his tongue.

"Yeah...I'll take ya word for it."

His older brother's voice grew louder and carried over on the wind:

"…the _fuck_ was that shit the other day? Don't act like you don't know what I'm talkin' about."

Raphael had kicked it up a notch.

Michelangelo took deep breath, smacking his gum loudly as he bemusedly gauged his arguing siblings. Yep, it was getting out of control, alright. He leapt from his vantage point and bounded over to where Raphael and Leonardo stood cursing at each other in between bitter shoves. A hefty elbow strike clipped Leonardo's upper arm, which he recoiled only slightly at. Raphael's lip rose into a vicious sneer.

"And that's for wastin' our time gettin' up early the other day for ya pointless trainin' exercise, _Splinter Junior_."

Standing ground, Leonardo continued to hold off his brother's brutal jabs. He let out a restrained sigh.

"You know that Splinter asked me to randomize the starting times for our endurance training. You were _there_ when he _said it_. The whole point of it was to draw on whatever reserves of energy we have at any given time. It's for all our benefit." he said softly, "If only you took _two seconds_ to think about it, you'd realize that."

"At five in the _mornin'_? Who the hell is pickin' fights at five in the mornin'? The geriatric foot division?"

"That's not the point and you _know_ it."

Leonardo shook his head and released a growl of frustration, unable to reason an ounce of sense into his brother. It was like dealing with a bomb, he thought bitterly. When he was good, he was unstoppable, an undiscriminating juggernaut of destruction. But more often than not he was impossible to contain, irrationally quick to explode and exceedingly complex to diffuse. Even with something that should have been as straightforward and benign as training.

"Don't patronize me, Leo." Raphael growled, his anger developing at the same rate as Leonardo's patience, "'Cause that's not the point and _you_ know it."

"No. I _really_ don't. Tell me."

Leonardo's self containment was maddening at this point. Even Michelangelo knew that it would rub Raphael all kinds of the wrong way.

"Fine. Ya want me ta _say it_? We're supposed ta be a _team_ , not fuckin' Leo and the _Supremes_. We have just as much say in our training as _you_. But did ya ever stop ta think about _that?!_ No, that'd be too fuckin' _nuts_ for our fearless leader ta consider somethin' outside his own little power trip."

"That's what this is about?! That's why you've been sulking for the last three days? It's meant to be _unpredictable_! Get it?!" Leonardo finally snapped back. "And _great_ stealth you've got going there. Why don't you just save your breath and put up a sign that we're here instead?"

Raphael's face screwed up in fury, at his limit of being reprimanded.

"How 'bout you remove the pole shoved up yer ass and I just might _do_ that?"

Michelangelo felt a tight twinge of the impending brawl.

 _And that's my cue..._

Without further thought he thrust himself into the midst of the argument, slinging his arms around them to draw them in.

"Butt out, Mikey." Raphael growled, hands hung half curled at his sides - bear paws ready to strike.

"Listen up. I gotta an idea. It's a little crazy, but, I think we can sort this all out." he took a deep breath and pointed up, "Okay. See that itty bitty light at the top of the tower? How 'bout whoever gets to it first wins this round. Think of it as a win-win for the spectators in the first row: Donnie, me… those weird night pigeons over there…"

From the crooks of his elbows Leonardo and Raphael both shot their gazes up to the beacon far above them at the pinnacle of the communications spire. The aircraft warning light. It gazed across the city, red and glowing, like the eye of Sauron itself. There was a brief moment of silence as they considered the challenge, the gusts of wind idling their mask tails in thought.

"That's got to be another hundred feet up." Leonardo began uncertainly.

Eyes narrowed on the target, Raphael took the bait. After all, he had the advantage, right?

"That thing, huh?" He snorted out the frosted air. "It's on. Ya snooze, ya lose, _Fearless_." Without a second thought, he darted towards the built-in rungs at the side of the tower base.

Leonardo grimaced at being so easily lured into another fight - _For the_ _second time tonight_ , he admonished himself. But within seconds, he followed. Because sometimes there was only one way to end an argument with Raph.

"Hey!" Michelangelo shouted as he dashed to keep up, "Wait for me! I need to officiate!"

…

It wasn't long before Raphael and Leonardo had surpassed the lower structure of the tower, scrambling up the slick and freezing beams, neck and neck, all the while shooting looks to inspect each other's progress.

Relying on his pure strength Raphael knew his greatest difficulties lay ahead, when his endurance would begin to wane. He snorted into the frost, giving himself a split second to wipe his right palm against his left wrap. The tower itself was more slippery than he anticipated, condensation on the beams requiring a strong grip. But he could do strong. He could do it very well. Sure, it didn't help that he was the heaviest of the four. But at least he'd have a chance if Leonardo's aversion to heights reared its head - something he was only too willing to remind him of.

"Don't look down, _bro_."

"Bet you wish you didn't miss all those training sessions, now, _hothead_." Leonardo snarled back, gripping a section of the scaffolding above him as he hauled himself upwards.

"Jam it up yer rear _, Fearless_." Raphael spat back, panting loudly as he leapt up to higher ground.

Leonardo let the insult pass by unacknowledged. It was just a diversion, he reminded himself. A flimsy tactic to throw him off. Something to be expected when Raphael faced any kind of challenge he couldn't punch himself out of. The tower creaked and swayed in the strong gusts of wind, but he trained himself to focus, to ignore the panic that threatened to erupt. He chanced a quick peek down past the side of the building at the insect sized vehicles crawling in rigid geometric patterns in the darkness far below. A dizzying feeling began to flitter at the edge of his mind. His foot found a crevice and gained traction beside a cluster of rivets before springing to the next section.

 _Enough,_ he asserted to himself, _Up only._

Because that was the only way to really conquer fear, he had realized long ago - to control it; redirect it into a rational part of the mind to be transformed it into something useful.

"Hey! Play nice!" Michelangelo's voice funneled up from beneath them. He arched his head up, watching his brothers bound upwards towards the peak of the ever narrowing spire, "Sure, Mikey," he muttered beneath his breath as he hauled himself to the next beam, "then we'll bake you a fudge cake and skip down to Magic Mountain."

They were over two thirds of the way up when it happened:

Rushing towards the top without signs of slowing, Raphael had leapt upwards, shooting for a beam above him. There was a squeal beneath his foot as he lost traction.

 _"_ _Shit!"_

He fell short, fingers barely brushing the galvanized metal before clasping onto nothing at all. Shocked, he released a short yelp of surprise, his face frozen in grim astonishment, before tumbling downward into the abyss. Leonardo caught the error from the corner of his eye, darting his hand into the thin air where his brother had been.

" _RAPH!"_

It was almost eerie how quickly Michelangelo reacted. Just about anyone else would have hesitated too long, panicked too much, Leonardo remembered thinking much later. But with Michelangelo it was instantaneous - he flung himself backwards, simultaneously freeing a nunchuck from his side as the backs of his knees hooked onto the beam he was clinging to. With a quick flick of his arm, the nunchuck chain wound around the ankle of his falling brother before they both swung back in towards the tower. And swing in hard they did. Raphael grunted as he struck metal structure.

 _"Omph!"_

"GRAB ON! The 'chucks won't hold if ya swing out again!"

Raphael didn't need to be told twice, hugging awkwardly to the side of the cold beam for dear life before clambering to rest on its topside.

 _"HOLY FUCK!"_

His breaths left in frantic gasps as the icy air whipped violently around him. He craned his neck up, checking over his body before setting it back down. He clenched his eyes shut, growling out a few more expletives for measure.

Michelangelo let go of his weapon and watched as it unraveled from Raphael's ankle. Reaching down, Raphael snatched it before it fell to the ground and launched it back towards his brother.

"Damn, Raph - gimme a heart attack next time."

No reply.

Still hanging by his knees, Michelangelo flipped and dropped, landing on neatly on his two feet onto the metal rafter below. He crouched down to look at his brother, his orange mask tails trailing vertical in the updraft.

"Raph?"

Michelangelo spat out his gum, briefly watching as it fell down the dizzying height in a curved path towards the top of the skyscraper. It caught on the wind and blew past the edge of the skyscraper, down to join the millions of other blackened wads on the sidewalks far below. He shivered quietly, thinking how it had almost been his brother. He snapped to. Noticing Raphael's reluctance to move, he cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Hey? You okay?"

Raphael looked up at his unlikely savior.

"Yeah." came his shaky reply, partly from the vicious bite of the wind, but mostly because he had nearly proved gravity's unforgiving truth one last time. "Jesus Christ, whose dumb idea was it ta climb up this thing?"

Michelangelo returned a shake of his head.

"Anytime, bro."

From above Leonardo had witnessed the whole thing, his hands still clammy with the terror at what had almost happened. He tipped his head back, releasing an audible grunt of relief as he pressed his forehead against the cool frame. _I knew this would happen, and I let myself walk right into it,_ he chastised himself wearily, _If Mikey hadn't have caught him…_

" _Raph!_ " he yelled out, his distant voice carrying on the icy gusts of air, "Are you alright?"

Raphael sniffed sharply.

" _Peachy_." he snarled back, his voice welling upwards to land faintly in Leonardo's ears. Though most of the malice had been replaced with sweet, sweet relief. He shuddered and peered below. "Fuck that. I'm headin' back down."

He eased his vice-like grip, still badly shaken, and began the descent to the base.

...


	5. Cake

At decibels that could split atoms, the lair resonated with the groans of a thousand zombies. Nothing unusual here. The late afternoon was Michelangelo's second favorite time for a movie marathon, and today had been no exception.

"Turn that racket down, why doncha?" Raphael grumbled from the adjacent sofa, sprawled out as he flipped through his book. The cover read: Weapons of the 20th Century, but the inside was all Potter. A secret guilty pleasure. Yeah, he'd spent a whole _minute_ replacing the dust jacket just so not to hear Michelangelo cackle about it for _twenty_.

"But you need the sound for the full effect of the zombies, _look at it!_ It's in HD!"

Raph lobbied back an irritable flicker, "Amazin'."

"Man, that thing's head is hanging by at thread it's _still_ chomping! He's got like, a _spine_ poking out the top!" Michelangelo mimicked the pose, "How can ya not wanna see this? And why the heck aren't these people using a _naginata_ on their asses? Dammit, get a _katana_ or _kama_ or something and _finish him_!"

"Do ya even hear yourself? Geez. Tell me when a plague infects the earth where people stop bein' chumps for five minutes. Then I'd be impressed."

Michelangelo's attention clicked over.

"Ya better be at the front of that line, bro." he said with a barely suppressed grin, "I'm just sayin'."

" _Seconded_." came Donatello's distant voice from the depths of the lab.

A low growling sound, as menacing as a jaguar's, rolled in Raphael's throat _. 'Lunge attack imminent_ ', blazoned through Michelangelo's head as he jumped instinctively out of striking range behind the bulk of the sofa with a terrorized shriek.

"I'm just KIDDING!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Raphael collapsed back down onto the sofa and raising a finger to slowly turn the page. A full minute ticked by before Michelangelo deemed it safe to re-emerge. He leapt back onto the threadbare couch, the ancient foam wheezing under his weight.

"Yeah. Funny. Way to prove a point."

"Want me ta prove a point? If ya don't drop twenty clicks off the sound, I'm gonna jam that remote up ya-"

" _Michelangelo!_ " Splinter's gravelly voice erupted from within the realms of his study, "Get here, immediately!"

Raphael and Michelangelo both snapped their heads towards their Master's bedroom. Splinter's tone had been unmistakably infuriated, leaving little doubt punishment afoot. Michelangelo's pin-wheeling eyes zoned into the blank space inches from his face. Raphael lowered his book to watch him over the top edge. Finally. Something more amusing than zombies.

 _"Fffffiddlesticks."_

"O-ho, what did ya do this time, little brother?"

Michelangelo shook his head, his orange mask tails sweeping over his shell as he drew nothing but blanks.

"I dunno...oh, crap. I hope he didn't find a dead rat in his room again. Klunk's already on his shit list."

Raphael emitted a snort of disgust.

"That cat's a goddamned menace. If I find a hairball in my room again, I'm booting him back out into the sewers."

"Shyeah, _right_. Like I didn't see you yesterday sleeping on the sofa together like a coupla kitties dreaming about the same butterfly."

Raphael's eyes narrowed.

"Just gimme the remote."

Michelangelo fished it out the from where he had jammed it down into the couch's interior crevice, then flung it at his brother. Without even looking Raphael snatched it out of the air, lowering the volume until the zombies kept their moaning down to a polite roar.

"Better." he grumbled, placing the remote pointedly atop his plastron.

Michelangelo huffed at the new development, glaring at the book which hid his brother's face.

"Ya could have read your wizard book in ya _room_. Man, for someone that doesn't like magic..."

There was only one thought that popped into Raphael's head: _How in the holy fuck did he know what I was reading?_ He snapped the book shut.

"Guess I couldn't tear myself away from the constant irritation."

"Yeah?" Michelangelo lowered his voice so that his plan would not be foiled by the ears in the walls, "Well, prepare for Splintergeddon, _hermano_ , 'cause whatever's gone down, I'm blaming _you_."

Raphael didn't buy it. Neither would Splinter.

"Think about blamin' me, and I'll unleash the backlog of shit I got on you. Startin' with: who _really_ broke the TV screen. With a yo-yo they made outta the toaster."

"How did you know abo- _ugh!_ " Irrevocably usurped, Michelangelo scrunched his eyes tight, " _Sewerbunnies_!"

"You could even say I could take _that_ screw up 'round the world."

Their masters' voice returned to infiltrate the room: " _Michelangelo!_ I will not ask you again!"

"Better haul shell, Mikey." Raphael snickered under his breath, raising the book back in front of his face with a low chuckle.

Michelangelo turned to face Splinter's room, face wrought with a concoction of concern and fear.

"Coming, Sensei!"

He darted off, leaving a hollow silence in his wake. Raphael frowned and waited until his brother was out of sight before raising the volume a few bars. Just to even it out.

.

Michelangelo guardedly approached the quaint seclusion of their Master's room, bracing himself for the verbal dress down that he knew was coming. It was all but a decree written in stone that Splinter was strict and far from fair. And more often than not, dished out with the knowledge that would make you regret disobeying orders. Even worse was that Splinter always could slip by any defense he had up his sleeve, even the old trusty "Raph made me do it."… not that he wouldn't play that card if he had to.

He slid open the _shoji_ and gave a cursory glance around the space: serene, cool, adorned with neatly kept artifacts of his life. An incense stick smoldered on the mantle by a framed picture of their grand master, Hamato Yoshi. It filled the room with a rich resin scent and took him back for a fleeting moment to the times when he was still a young child, when he would sprint to Splinter's bedside to vanquish the frequent nightmares he had suffered as a child. It was a safe place when it needed to be. Perhaps the safest place on the planet - without even a weapon in sight - save that wily cane that had struck out at him more times than he cared to remember. _Peaceful_ , Leonardo once described it. Sure, he would say that, Michelangelo thought glumly, he wasn't the one always in trouble.

Thinking quickly, he performed a clandestine sweep the floor with his eyes. Nope. No victim of Klunk's was smeared on the tatami mats. Well, at least he had that going for him.

"You, uh, requested me _,_ sensei?" he promoted an awkward grin, eyes dropping to the middle of the room where Splinter kneeled at a low wooden table set in the center of the room. A tea set had been arranged just so upon it, where sat two glazed cups steaming with the immaculately brewed tea inside. But crowning the table was something Michelangelo couldn't take his eyes off - _cake_. And not the cheap kind either. Rather, a delicate pale green sponge, layered with chocolate flecked cream. He choked down a gasp of excitement.

"Matcha tea cake, sensei?"

 _Wait a minute_ , he thought with a trace of skepticism; _aren't I supposed to be in trouble?_ He let the worry go, now certain that he was being rewarded for...something?

Splinter chuckled and indicated the blank space opposite him.

"Please take a seat, my son."

Michelangelo willingly obliged, kneeling opposite his Master on the floor as his eyes remained glued to the prize fare.

"Where's it from, Sensei? Did you make it? I didn't think you could cook- ah, I mean, I've never seen you bake before." he amended quickly with a nervous chuckle, "I mean, half the stuff you eat is raw..."

He clamped his mouth shut before he talked himself right back into an inescapable hole. Splinter shook his head in amusement, raising his teacup within his cradled paws to sip. He lowered it back down, ensnaring his son with his customary stare, his eyes as bright and sharp as blades.

"Yes, you are right, of course. As you know, and much to my regret, cooking is far from my strongest suit. Fortunately, I do know someone that is quite adept in the art, someone whom was also kind enough to secretly deliver this in order. Quite an impressive feat, slipping it by four highly trained ninja undetected." he mused with a twitch of a grin.

Michelangelo let forth a snigger of disbelief.

" _Casey_? Casey couldn't bake microwave pop-corn." he paused as finally it clicked whom his master had meant, "Oh. _Aprillll_. You meant April, didn't you? Yeah, I knew that."

Splinter's whispery brow went askew. Sometimes his son was indeed a worry. With Michelangelo it was so very easy to be derailed. It was amongst his best traits.

He waved a robed arm in front of him.

"Please, have some tea, my son. Yours is already poured and awaits its enjoyment."

Michelangelo nodded and wrapped his fingers around the egg sized cup. He sipped and winced. Jasmine tea. To him it had always smelt like aerosol air freshener and tasted as bitter as medicine.

"That is-" he cleared his throat, "… _great_ , sensei. But y'know, I bet it would go even better with some food. Oh hey, there's a piece of cake. Perfect."

Splinter smiled wanly.

"Of course. Please, my son. Help yourself." as he had spoken, Splinter had picked up his cane, holding it in the air a foot above the table. Michelangelo's eyes flicked over nervously to where it hovered, like a cobra ready to strike.

"Um, are you sure, sensei? 'Cause it looks like ya gonna hit me or something there."

"Of course, my son. Do not pay any attention to my walking stick. I have given you permission, have I not?"

 _Ohhhh noooo, I'm not falling for this..._

Michelangelo went instantly to the fall back plan.

"I didn't mean to do it!"

"Do what, my son?" Splinter inquired innocently.

"Um..." he tried in vain to read his master's indecipherable face, "Break something? Maybe?"

To his utter horror, Splinter's grin widened.

"You broke something?"

 _Abort! Abort!_

Michelangelo bowed his head, trying to readjust his progress.

"Noooo..." he answered slowly, watching as Splinter's head slowly moved side to side, "No. I don't think so. Not lately. Let me try again - forget to clean up after myself? ...no, wait. I know. You probably overhead me telling that joke to Raph the other day. In my defense, I was trying to get him to lighten up a little after Leo knocked a sai outta his hand in training."

Splinter's mouth twitched with an iota of annoyance, casting a stern glare upon his wayward child.

"Hmph. It is not the honorable way to joke of priests and choir boys in such a manner, Michelangelo. However, that is not why I called you here today."

Perplexed as to what Splinter was alluding to, Michelangelo dropped his eyes to the table.

"Well...can I just maybe take a bite of the cake and think about it?"

A nod was returned.

"Yes, you may, my son."

Michelangelo drew in a deep breath. Was it safe to continue? He decided risk it.

"Ookaay theen." he drawled softly.

Michelangelo's eyes remained glued to the cane as his outstretched fingers reached towards the small saucer containing the wedge of teacake.

 _Almost got it..._

Suddenly the cane struck down, rapping hard across the back of his knuckles.

"OW! " Michelangelo snapped his hand back and held it by his plastron with a look of shocked hurt, "Sensei...I thought you said I could have it!"

"I did, and you may. Now listen to me - ignore the walking stick and take the food."

Michelangelo's brain ticked over as tried to decide his course of action. He sucked in air through his gritted teeth, understanding implicitly that Splinter was out to get him. But for what? Unable to draw a definitive reason, his fears of pain were quickly trumped by thoughts of obtaining food. If only to rub the small victory into Raphael's face. Figuratively speaking, of course (this time, anyway). He shuffled slightly forward on the mat, reaching forward to try again, warily eyeing the cane.

 _THWUMP!_

" _Ow, ow, ow!_ " Michelangelo shook his hand, trying to flick off the pain. He inhaled a deep breath before leveling an earnest stare across at his sensei, "Master Splinter, maybe you could just _tell_ me what I did wrong."

Splinter rose the cane again, keeping it within swinging distance of the table.

"I am my son. But you have still not quite grasped the concept."

"But I don't get it! I'm doing what you say but you keep _clocking_ me with that thing."

"Is that so? And what am I telling you to do?"

Frowning incredulously, Michelangelo answered with the blaring obvious.

"Ah...take the cake?"

"And is that all?"

Michelangelo's eyes darted around. They landed back on the slim piece of whittled Japanese maple that Splinter grasped in hand.

"Well, for some insane reason, you keep telling me to not pay any attention to the-" a light of understanding came to his eyes, " _Oh_. Tell me it's not that simple - you want me to _ignore_ the cane. As in, literally not pay it any attention." he exhaled slowly, "Okay. Let's take three..."

This time Michelangelo kept his attention focused, not daring to chance a look at the walking stick Splinter still held nearby. He grabbed the saucer with both hands and placed it down in front of him. The plate barely made a sound as it touched the table. Completed with the task, he glanced up at his master.

"Excellent." Splinter commended him jovially, "But that is only half the lesson. Describe to me what you have learned."

"Um...that you like to hit me with your cane- _OW_!"

He rubbed where the knobby end of the walking stick had unceremoniously swooped down and bopped him on the skull.

" _Think harder_."

Michelangelo gave a defeated toss of his head.

"I dunno, sensei. I'm stumped - I guess maybe you want me to pay attention to you and not your cane?"

Splinter set the cane down beside him and resumed sipping his tea.

"Very good. Please continue."

"But the cane is in your hand! How is that not the same thing?" Michelangelo reasoned aloud, "I guess if...maybe if I don't listen to you I'm gonna get hurt...or something." he gave a frustrated grunt, "Agh, just...please tell me, sensei. I'm never gonna get it."

Splinter closed his eyes with a slow sigh. He shifted his aching knees upon the mat, thinking, before peering back up at his son.

"I have been watching your progress in training, my son. And there is something that concerns me. The team the four of you form is still quite young, and each of you plays an important part vital to its success. But I also know how insistent you are of deferring your acceptance of orders to Raphael in the midst of battle. Can you explain to me why this is so?"

Michelangelo was astonished at the implication. Of all the things he thought he was in here for, he would never have guessed that there was some issue with his behavior on the field.

"Um...I didn't realize I was doing that..." he frowned as he went over the accusation in his head, "I trust Leo, sensei. He's great at leading us. The best. But I guess I like to do a little fact checking with Raph's face...if that makes sense. I get a good clue as to how well things are gonna go if they both agree on something. Lately, they haven't been seeing eye to eye and it's been getting messy."

 _Messy_ \- yes, that was it, Splinter thought as he lightly tapped a nail on his teacup. Michelangelo always did have a way with words. For it was true their cohesion as a unit had been slipping of late. They had been returning with more injuries than ever, more angry at each other than ever, blaming each other for delays and diversions.

"Hm. I see. But as a member of a team it is imperative that you act accordingly. To suspend your actions for your brother's tacit approval, even momentarily, is to be distracted from the situation." he set his cup down, bestowing an appraising stare upon his youngest son, "Ever since you were a child you have been joined to Raphael's hip. As a father it is a warming thing to see. The bond of siblings, of brothers, runs deep. But being a part of team is like being the limbs of a body. It is the head that instructs, and the arms' duty to follow." He stretched his hands apart, "You must move as one. You must fight as one. Or else you will wonder why you cannot accomplish the most simple of things." He swept his hands towards each other, striking them together in a resounding clap. It echoed loudly in the small space.

"Oh. I didn't know I was doing anything wrong."

"No actions are without consequence, my son. But perhaps you are wondering why it is not Raphael in here?"

"Well..." He couldn't look his father in the eye as he said it, the instinct to atone for his brother overwhelmingly strong. "Maybe."

A flash of an understanding came across Splinter's face, quite able to read the unsettled thoughts of his son.

"You may not realize this, my son, but sometimes it is your older brother that looks to you. Raphael is fiercely protective of you all, perhaps even to his detriment. But despite all arguments he has with Leonardo, he knows where he is needed. You, too, must know where you are needed. Because he, too, will then follow." he tipped his head questioningly, "Is that understood?"

Twisting his mouth to the side, Michelangelo settled back from the table. He stared right through the cake, his appetite diminishing in proportion to his growing uneasiness. It was unfair, he thought sourly, all he had tried to do was keep everyone happy. To keep things smoothed over. But maybe it was he who was the squeaky wheel: Never as judiciously perfect as Leonardo, as outlandishly strong as Raphael, or academically brilliant as Donatello. It was little wonder he was being blamed for being defective.

"I think so, sensei." he answered dejectedly.

A wispy brow shot up.

"Is there something wrong, my son."

A heavy sigh escaped him.

"Am I... am I the weak link, sensei? The joke?" he peered up with a troubled expression, "Can I cut to the chase here for a minute? I think I get called in here more than anyone for something I've either done or not done. I mean, I could close my eyes and tell you what's in ya room without even looking. Let me show ya."

He promptly demonstrated, squeezing his lids shut as he pointed blindly across the room,

"Futon's there, along with the embroided throw gifted by the bodacious Miss O'Neil. Topped with one pillow, fluffed to perfection." he swung his arm around as he proceeded to fire off the items from memory, "Mantelpiece with two photos, incense and a _shakuhachi_ ;" he sniffed twice, "Sandalwood today, sensei? Good choice. Over there is the screen divider covered in let me think - _five_ herons; and there is a small table and your awesome bonsai which we got for ya birthday a million years ago. Above that is the hanging scroll that Leo gave ya for Christmas. He copied out a _riveting_ piece of inspirational calligraphy that I'm sure helps ya get ta sleep at night...and you don't even have to ask - I _always_ know where your cane is."

He opened his eyes with a grin.

"Did I win the jackpot?"

Splinter chuckled, it was a hearty sound, full of genuine laughter. The unusual outburst disturbed Michelangelo even more, but he took it as instruction that his question had been foolish.

"Any perceived flaws of character are nothing that cannot be remedied with more dedication to your training studies." Splinter admonished playfully as he tipped his head towards the matcha cake. It seemed every conversation with his youngest ended with such an observation. _Apply yourself. Apply yourself._ _Apply yourself._ Today he would let him off easy.

"But so that you understand implicitly - you are far from the weak link, my son. When the four of you work in unison, you are indivisible. Both in your individual abilities, and my respect. Please, eat."

Michelangelo picked up the small fork set by his plate and dug the tines into the soft sponge. He scooped out a bite-sized chunk before setting it back down, uneaten. A dull throbbing in his twice stricken hand gave rise to the question:

"What's the cake, sensei? I mean, if we're a team and we want the cake... what's the cake meant to be? Is it ... _winning_? Or is it something we need to keep fighting for?"

 _Ah, but there it is_ , Splinter thought with a faint smile: a profoundly insightful musing, one of the many that seemed to stream from his young son's wild energy, and something that continually demonstrated acumen beyond his years. His tail flicked in thought as he regarded his son's query. If Michelangelo had ever considered himself an unequal team member, it was moments like these, of sheer unexpected perception, that erased them. Over time it would see his spiritual journey flourish, and fully realized it would exalt him to become a remarkable warrior indeed. Competent, joyful, and possessing the spiritual flexibility to be unburdened by change. Able to duck and weave the hurdles life had thrown at them. Of this Splinter had no doubt.

But perhaps even more remarkable was that it was all just in his nature. Something not learned or practiced, not contrived or forced. In a small way it reminded him a little of his master's master.

 _Practiced? Goodness_ , Splinter pondered quietly, _if only had such tenacity_.

With a quick glance upwards, Splinter quickly appraised his son, his olive limbs huddled together in a kneel, well positioned yet comfortably relaxed. Deceptively reminiscent of a child, where beneath he held a peculiar intelligence all his own. And so very different from the strict formality of his older sons. A small sliver of worry infiltrated Splinter, as Michelangelo's heart, for all it's good intentions, could be his undoing. He hadn't hardened himself like the others. Hadn't discerned with full understanding that the best thing was not always the right thing. Hopeful and trusting to a fault. An influence of the comics that he always immersed himself in, perhaps, forgetting that unlike them they were not infallible superheroes. Splinter let it rest. A lesson for another day, perhaps.

Leaning forward, he reflected the question back: "And what do _you_ think it is, my son?"

A moment passed as Michelangelo considered. What _was_ the cake? Picking up his fork, he shoveled the bite into his mouth, savoring the earthy and sweet flavor. A treat fit for a king. He scraped the tines clean with his tongue. At last he scoffed to himself, having apparently arrived at a satisfactory answer.

"Do ya mind if I save some for Raph, sensei? I kinda need ta get the remote back and I think this might be the best way ta do it."

...

A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it was a fun one to write. There is an actual joke that Mikey refers to in this chapter but it's way too dirty/disturbing to write down here!


	6. Shape

A/N: WARNING - This chapter is extremely violent and explicit and rated M for adult themes. If you are easily upset, please reconsider this one. Thank you for those following along so far, I hope the jumps in time are not too difficult to follow.

* * *

CHAPTER 6 - SHAPE

Raphael remembered it well, as much as he wanted to forget it ever happened. He was not even teenager yet, he knew that much because he could remember feeling small and big at the same time. Twelve. _Old enough to know better_ , as Splinter would often tell him.

 _"_ _Dammit."_

He spat out the plastic cap he had been chewing on and unwound the leather from his _sai_ handle. He'd been at it half an hour already- undoing and redoing the binding only to screw it up and to start again. Sure, he wasn't as precise as Leonardo or proficient as Donnie, but he'd be damned if he let them touch his weapons. May as well share a toothbrush. The sudden appearance of his youngest brother stumbling into his peripheral vision threw all notions into disarray. He set down his work.

"What's th' matter with _you?_ "

"N...Nothing"

At the strangely coy response, Raphael paused and glanced up. Something was different. Then he saw it. The skateboard he'd almost always lovingly strangle was gone. Blood streamed from a long, thin wound on his thigh that looked gauged out by something nasty - _A rat?_ And the smell...

"Jesus. Did ya slip under a burst pipe or somethin'?"

Michelangelo visibly tensed.

"Mikey?" Raphael said, prodding at was quite obviously a sore spot, "Cut the shit, bro. What's wrong? What happened to ya?".

He hopped up onto his feet. Up close he could see that his brothers injuries were worse than he had first anticipated. Michelangelo was absolutely terrified, shaking so badly the chains of his _nunchaku_ rattled against his shell. Raphael's tone instantly transformed.

"Geez, Mikey. What th' hell? _Tell me_."

"I...I...don't..." came Michelangelo's timid reply, his voice choking, "...I don't wanna talk about it."

Unsatisfied, Raphael grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Quit fuckin' around. _What happened_?"

Michelangelo shoved him off, "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

The violent reaction caught Raphael completely off guard. He fell back, stunned into silence. Something was wrong here, _more_ than wrong. Michelangelo would never snap like that over a mere accident. Ever.

"Mikey, I-I didn't-"

The apology was cut short.

"What's going on?"

"Nuthin' I can't handle, Leo."

"Mikey! Geez! What happened to you?" Leonardo's eyes went wide. He turned to yell towards the living quarters, "Donnie! Bring some meds! Hurry!"

Blood had began to pool at the base of Michelangelo's plastron and run down his leg. Where was that blood even coming from?

" _Jesus_..." Raphael found his own voice shaking.

Seeing Michelangelo like this scared Raphael more than anything he could ever remember - more than their brushes with disease and famine, more than the threat of discovery...more than death itself. His brother was not meant to be like this. He was the youngest. He was the one he was supposed to protect.

"Mikey..." he pleaded in a low tone, "What in the _hell_?"

Under his unrelenting stare, Michelangelo cracked. His face contorted with despair.

"Th-there...was...s-someone..."

 _"And?"_

"H-he... he m-musta found me sleeping...a...and...he...jumped me..."

"You were _sleepin'_ out there? _Alone_?" Raphael bristled, "What are you? An idiot?"

Michelangelo shook his head as his mouth sagged. Tears he had tried to hold back broke free. He backed into the wall, slumping to the ground.

"I'm… I'm 'n idiot. I shoulda never have gone...ya right...I'm an idiot..."

"It's okay, Mikey." Leonardo said soothingly, "You're safe now."

" _Where?_ " Raphael demanded in a low growl. If he got wind of who did this, of how to find him...

Michelangelo dropped his head, saying in a quiet voice.

"The ovens."

"The OVENS? Don't ya _know_ how many people go there in the winter? What the hell were ya _thinkin'_?"

"Raph." Leonardo growled, "Give him some space, already! Mikey...what happened?"

Michelangelo shook his head, burying his face into his hands as his body shook with stifled sobs. He looked so fragile. Trapped in despair. Something Raphael had never aligned with his brother before. Michelangelo had all but cemented his position in the family, as the clown, the goof-off, the jester - he was so full of life, so much like the people above, that he couldn't be a part seemed like the biggest joke of all. Raphael crouched beside him in instant, resting a hand on the part of his shell that flared by his shoulder.

"Take it easy, bro. I'm right here." He tried to inflect the same empathy Michelangelo had used on him dozens of times before, the kind that oozed concern without ridicule, "Just don't like ta see ya like this. But ya gotta let us in on what happened. See if we can help."

"H-he hurt me." Michelangelo said shaking, "he _hurt_ me…"

"Raph, let him be. Stop pushing him."

"Back off, Leo!" Raphael spat back, shrugging off his brother's hand, "No-one does this ta one of us and gets aways with it. _Look at what they did ta him._ " he snatched his unbound sai from the table, "I'm goin' out there and finding that fucker."

"We can't go out there, Raph."

"Like hell I can't, Leo." Raphael spat back, "Are you just gonna let whoever did this get away with it? No way."

Leonardo's face darkened. From behind him, he heard Donatello choke back a gasp before rushing in to tend to their wounded brother. Michelangelo remained a silent husk, numb to what was happening around him. Gauze pads were soon sopping up the blood _._ Donatello let out an strained exhale and glanced back up at their leader with a tight but barely concealed anger of his own.

"We're not supposed leave without him knowing." Leonardo whispered under his breath, not even buying the excuse himself anymore.

"I'll patch up Mikey." came Donatello's even reply.

"Splinter-" Leonardo began

"He's gone up near Chinatown. Daytime raid before the dumpster trucks arrive. Left only ten minutes ago."

Leonardo nodded in understanding: _Two hours_ , he thought to himself, _we've got about two hours._

Raphael touched the _sai_ at his side, ensuring they were at the ready, "I'm sortin' this out RIGHT NOW."

"Okay." Leonardo nodded, voice eerily calm."Let's go."

...

That morning, all Michelangelo had wanted was somewhere away from his brothers- if only for a little while - to relax and unwind without being yelled at, punched on, or told off. A reprieve from the titans in his life that constantly loomed over him. Titans, as it happened, that had names that rhymed with Meonardo, Maphael and Monatello.

Packing his satchel, he prepared himself for the sojourn - with him his skateboard, a stack of comics, a flask of cocoa, and the intention of _not_ falling asleep. He slipped out unnoticed in the midday doldrums, cleverly bypassing Donatello's detection by sticking to the alarm sensor blind-spots. When safely out of earshot, he dropped his board with a clatter. A strong kick later and he was off.

He _loved_ this. Him, on his own, flying through the tunnels at speeds that left even Raphael grimacing with unspoken worry. And he was getting good, he knew it - his board was up to scratch, adjusted neatly to his size, and the bearings broken in and slick as the sewers themselves. He came to a railing in an abandoned section of the sewers and sped up.

 _"Mikey takes the jump… and he makes it!"_

With the precision of a master, he skimmed down the railing pole on the base of his deck. If ninjustu was the art of stealth, then skating was the art of moving on a board.

"And the crowd goes WY- _ILD_ \- Raaahhhhh!"

And study he did, skating until his legs felt like barely-set jello and his muscles burned beneath his plastron, until finally, after hours, he decided to call a break. He dropped back on his rear foot, grinding to a halt in the soft sunlit tunnels.

"Howdy."

No reply. Just quiet and warmth.

The spot he had come to was an alcove off a sewer tunnel, quite a distance from the chilly sanctity of home. Its connections to the sub-surface resulted in a constant warm draft that riddled through this particular section before spewing steam through the grates on the surface. On a very cold day, it was better than the lair. Like sitting in an oven set to low. Enough warmth to be rid of even the deepest chills that reptile bones griped over.

He settled in, propping his skateboard against the tunnel wall as he fished out his supplies. Comfortable at last, he picked up a favorite graphic novel of his and flipped the cover, coming across grainy illustrations that more often than not contained an emotionally troubled mutant proclaiming things like: ' _If only I had destroyed that nuclear marine-copter before Doctor Sand got his glassy hands on it!'._

He dreamed often of joining them; to come out from hiding, unafraid and unashamed, because he wasn't either of those things. He was just... Mikey.

"My brothers don't get it." he said drowsily, "We already _are_ like the people in the comics. Sure, we don't have superpowers, but that never stopped Batman. Did it?" he looked up at the wall beside him, half expecting it to murmur in agreement.

"Don't give me that - Batman _IS_ a superhero. Ya don't have to have _super_ powers to be a _super_ hero. I thought we had this discussion last week."

Again, the wall replied with a stony silence.

"We'll just hafta agree to disagree." He reached into his satchel and pulled out his small flask, uncapping it before pouring the steaming drink into the lid "Pfft. Is it just me or is it like talking to a wall trying ta get some feedback from ya?"

The humor was lost on the wall. He sipped.

It hit just the spot. Something sweet and revitalizing in the chilly afternoon.

"What's that? No mouth? 'sa shame, really. I'll have to drink it all myself."

The acquisition of the cocoa had been a boon. Months earlier, Splinter had struck gold finding the damaged goods in a local dumpster. Four dented tins. One for each brother. Along with the warning of it being their responsibility to ration it to themselves. Figuring it was some kind of Splinter zen-test, Mikey had been very careful, conserving his allotment like precious gold. So far his personal stash had lasted over half a year and a dozen skate outings. Raphael, on the other hand, had finished his months ago. Mikey was certain of it. His face had said it all.

 _"If I find where yer hidin' it, Mikey, you can kiss it goodbye, 'cause I'm freebasin' that shit."_

Michelangelo snorted back a chuckle. Raphael always brought the entertainment with his all-bark-no-bite threats.

He set down his cup and resumed reading. Page sixteen. A superhero with more muscles than sense helmed a speedboat into choppy waters, capturing sight of the marine copter's periscope: " _No escaping this time, Doctor Sand, this time I 'SEA' you!"_

Even at twelve he knew it was corny. But he would have given his right arm to be out in the world like his heroes. Or even just like a regular person. A regular kid, even. Imagine that: at school, learning... _things_. Or whatever they did. Sure seemed like they got into just as much trouble as he did from what he could tell from the TV. Then at lunch - eating...more _things_. Yeah it looked sloppy, but _good_. Then later he could impress some friends with his skating moves. That would be _sweet_. The thought sat in his mind.

Friends. He wondered if they were anything like brothers.

Then, out of nowhere, he was yawning.

He knew it was dangerous to fall asleep outside the safety of home. Especially alone. But the warmth and the cocoa and the constant trickle of water soon took his cares away. As he drifted away his foot kicked out, knocking over the small amount of drink he had left in his cup.

 _Drip...drip... drip_... muddy flowers blooming in the sewer streams.

Something to attract the most vile of predators.

" _Is..is that you, hhuh?"_

He came to with a start. The first thing to hit him was the smell, so rotten and sour and pungent, he retched before his eyes had even opened. He was used to the smells the city sewers could bring, even in the height of summer's humid spells, but this one eclipsed them all. He eyes shot open, looking for its source. Almost instantly he saw it.

Huddled by his feet was a strange man with faded eyes that seemed to drink in his body. Michelangelo's breath caught in his throat. He had never been so close to a human before. Never thought they could smell so bad. He clutched at the ground.

"W-who are you, mister?"

"Me?" A cracked tongue slipped out and licked against his upper lip, "I'm me. Just me. You lost down here, _hhuh_?" the sluggish tic dripped from the man's rotting maw. _Hhhhhuh?_ Drawing out the sound like a phlehmy cough.

"N-no…"

Michelangelo's heart thudded in panic. He had seen people like this underground before, people with skin like paper, freckled with scratch marks and weeping blisters. People who had lost all their goodwill down their throat or up their arm. People with no home that made one here in the dark. One glaring thought immediately came to him - behind him was a dead-end. The only way out was past the stranger.

The man's face split into a decaying smile.

"Wait! I know you anywhere, no matter what strange suit you're in! You're my boy! You an' me!" he laughed, "An' after all this time. _Hhuh?_ How 'bout that?"

 _My boy_? This weirdo thought he was _his boy_? What the heck was going on?

"I-I'm n-not-"

The man held up a shellac-stained finger.

"Shush, now. I know why you're here." He gave a manic titter as his damp hand dropped down before trailing up Michelangelo's thigh. "That's what you want. _Hhuh_? Somethin' warm in the cold?"

Paralyzed with shock, Michelangelo could only watch as the man's hand slithered further upwards, caressing the plastron edge between his legs before catching in the divot that ended his dorsal crease. There it hovered, wriggling in the little dip.

"Pl-please, I-I'm not –"

" _Hhuh_ , ' _course_ you are!" The grey stumps that remained of his teeth flashed in the dark. "It be a damn shame not 't know how _ssoft_ you are. "

"N-No. Pl-Please don't-"

The man ignored him. The hands roamed to the plate joint between Michelangelo's legs to search him further. He reached down, freeing the button clasping his decomposing pants together. The waistband fell away under his dirty nails.

"Strange suit y'er got here, sonny, straaaange suit…"

Michelangelo snapped.

" _GET BACK!"_

He pushed the man off with a kick, quickly and desperately turning to crawl into the tunnels dead-end. If he could just get up, just break free…but the smell. Oh god, the smell. He stopped, sobbing as his retches left a fetid swamp of beneath his body.

"An' where do ya think you're goin', _hhuh_?"

Michelangelo bundled his fists to get onto his feet, but just as quickly the man seized him up and slammed him to the ground. He thudded against the gravel with a cry of anguish, pinned helpless beneath the mountain of human garbage. The man was so heavy. So much heavier than a twelve year old.

"GET OFF ME!" Michelangelo screamed again, the sound ringing through the tunnels.

"I thought I taught you better, _hhuh_?" The blank man scolded with a frightening reserve, "Now we'll have to learn everything _all over again_."

"NO! Please! Don't-"

Before he could finish, the man grabbed the knot of his mask, smashing his head into the tunnel floor. Pops of light flashed before Michelangelo sight as bitterly he held onto consciousness. For a moment he drifted on its edge. He thought he was hearing things when a gameshow tune popped into his head followed by the booming voice of a host:

 _"Name two things you don't see in the sewers? Stars and birds, you say?! That's inKERRRRect, folks! I can see them spinning around right now! Hyuk! Hyuk!"_

" _No._.." Michelangelo whimpered , trembling as the man invaded his lower plates with tentacle-like fingers. He could feel them inching in, trying to coax him out, stroking and caressing with quickening breaths.

 _Help me_ , he pleaded desperately into the dark, _Leo. Raph. Donnie. Sensei. Help me._

But he was alone. He had never felt it so glaringly in all his life.

" _Why_ must you fight every time?" the man's tone was almost tender, "No-one's gonna believe ya, boy. And if you tell them..." he leaned in close by the side of his head, inhaling the cold sweat on Michelangelo's neck until his erection strained against his rotting clothes, " _I'll slit your mother's throat_."

An icy terror crept over Michelangelo. He clawed at the floor, trying to gain traction, leaving only futile streaks in the muck. Exhausted, he fell limp. The man only tittered at his attempt to escape.

" _Let me go_ …" Michelangelo pleaded, his voice dry and cracked, "I don't know who you are… I've never met you."

Michelangelo heard him flick open a blade –Italian-forged steel, the only thing on the man that shone clean.

"That's it. Just relax…" The man drawled gleefully, his face carved with a crooked grin, eyes glowing red in the scant light. The knife pierced the green skin on his thigh. Michelangelo screamed. The man ignored him and traced the tip upwards along Michelangelo's inner thigh, leaving a thick bloody trail. "Cause if I don't, I'll find somewhere to put it – I'll _make_ somewhere to put it. And you wouldn't want that would you, _huh_?"

He breathed in, coming closer to Michelangelo's ear.

"Or would you?"

He felt the cold tip of the knife wedge between his lower plates. A surge of blind panic rose up. Michelangelo chanced a look up. Just a few feet to his left his skateboard sat against the tunnel wall. A small glimmer of hope set in:

 _The board! Get the board!_

Michelangelo strained forwards, trying desperately to reach for it. Just an inch closer, just a little closer...

 _Please...pleeease. Please let me get this ... please…_

His reach fell short. A hopeless despair hit him. It had all but won when from the plummeting depths of his he could almost hear his elder brother:

 _REACH FURTHER, DAMMIT! REACH IT!_

 _I can't…it's too far…_

He felt the knife tip twist against his plastron and skin near his genitals. A white hot pain like none he had felt before shot through him. He out screamed in agony:

" _STOP IT!"_

"Shut the fuck up" growled the wretched man, "Shut up, shut up, shut up."

 _JUMP HIGHER, MIKEY! YOU CAN DO IT!_

Michelangelo strained towards his skateboard again, grunting with every last ounce of strength, stretching out until hyper-extended. But the distance remained an unbridgeable chasm.

 _"NO!"_

"Say 'no' again." the man said softly, his breath reeking of fresh dogshit and death, "I _dare_ you to say no again…"

Michelangelo clamped his mouth shut, whimpering as the man grinded against his shell. This time, something clicked over in Michelangelo's head: The small thrust forward was all he needed.

 _Screw you, you sicko._

He darted his arm out again. This time he latched onto it. Barely. An astounded breath left him as he shimmied it closer. Firm in his grip, he swung with all his might.

It connected with a crack sweeter than the sweetest spot on a baseball bat. Teeth and blood sprayed onto the slimy walls.

The man fell back, shrieking, as blood poured from the gash in his forehead. He smeared the blood across his cheek in disbelief, eyes wild with anger:

"What did you _do_?"

His pocked face twisted into fury. He tightened his knife hold. Michelangelo rolled to the left just as the knife point slammed into the gravel. It missed by less than an inch. Michelangelo didn't waste a moment, retching as he scrambled to his feet.

"Run from me, _hhuh_? I dare you!" the man screeched, stumbling as he attempted to stand, "Run from me and I will make you SCREAM."

The threat echoed coldly in the small space. Without hesitating, Michelangelo made his only choice, bolting past the man and towards the tunnels - not knowing where it led, not caring where it went to, as long as it wasn't there.

"STOP!" the sobbing, awful wails reverberated behind Michelangelo, "Come _baaaaack_! COME BAAAAACK!"

Michelangelo ran, pounding through streams of trickling sewer water, running until his lungs were on fire and his heart slamming against his chest.

And he did not stop, did not chance the horror, to look back once.

...

"They say ya always remember the first time." Raphael said softly as he gazed upon his battle scarred hands, "That it burns in ya mind. But it ain't true. 'Cause I wouldn't waste a precious ounce 'a space thinkin' about the scumbag that hurt ya, Mikey."

He dropped his hands by his side.

"I sleep easy 'bout that one."

...


	7. Pictures of You

A/N: A change of tone. The heart wants what it wants... yes, this is a chapter that may contain a little more April and Donnie. I hear ya. Also, don't be fooled - I do not normally write at this pace, these chappies have been sitting around for a good long while. Anyone that is familiar with my DA account may have seen a series of Sunset pics I drew for this. Yep, it's been that long. After I threw the timeline to hell, I felt free! Anyway, enough of the inconsequential (literally) rambling. Please enjoy this latest chapter and, of course, don't be afraid to leave your thoughts/comments/questions - I don't bite, either!

* * *

CHAPTER 7 - PICTURES OF YOU

The piercing whir of cicadas rang in the air as the setting sun transformed the sky into a magnificent saffron gold, the colors running skywards into the mauves and blues, before being speckled with the first stars far above. From the peeling railings of the farmhouse- built true in the early forties and proudly standing over sixty years later- a small troupe of unlikely friends and family gathered to admire the gorgeous spectacle brought about by the abnormally warm westerly. But admiration alone was not enough for one of the brothers. Determined to document the scenery, Donatello soon reemerged with an unwieldy DSLR, clasping the lens in one hand and trying to manually adjust the settings for the light. He walked out onto the hillock of short grass by the front of the house where his youngest brother sat.

"You want to be in my test shots Mikey?"

"Sure, bro."

Michelangelo spat out a tuft of red clover he'd been chewing and swiveled around to face Donatello He gathered his limbs and lifted his head and offered a natural smile.

"This good?"

"Yeah, ready? Say cheese."

" _Monterey_."

Donatello pressed his finger down. The camera whirred then snapped the infinite expanse of sky and land behind his brother. He tilted the camera back to closely inspect the small LCD screen at its rear.

"Hm..."

"What's it look like?"

Donatello glanced back up.

"The lighting's good, but you're blinking in the picture."

"Gah! Take some more, Donnie." He paused to raise his voice, "Hey Raph, come down here! Get in the photo with me!"

" _NO_." came the resolute and booming reply.

From the patio April bounded down, briefly passing by Donatello's shoulder and skimming it with her fingers. He looked up, surprised by her appearance.

"Mind if I get in?"

"Ah...not at all." A faint stir stoked up within his chest, "Just go sit in beside Mikey and I'll snap you both."

"Sit? You mean in front of the camera?" she joked, swinging her fingers towards Michelangelo. "Ingenious!"

Donatello snorted, watching as she wandered up beside Michelangelo, set herself beside him, and draped her arm across his muscular shoulders. Even he had no idea what scheming Michelangelo had yet to unleash.

Michelangelo eyed April slyly.

"Ya in?"

April inclined her chin towards him, speaking from the corner of her mouth.

"What's that?"

"Mix it up after the first few, give the ol' Donnie-boy something to remember."

"Dumb poses?"

"Only the dumbest."

"Deal." she agreed under her breath, all the while smiling innocently up at the camera lens.

They led in soft. For several snaps remaining demure, April resting her head against Michelangelo's, as they both formed a deceptive picture of utter purity.

Eventually Donatello brought the camera away from his face.

"Just a few more, I think I need to bump up the ISO. You're looking a little dark." he dropped the camera to fiddle with the camera panel before resuming his shots.

He had barely begun when Michelangelo made his move.

"Now!" he hissed, contorting his face as April laughed along and followed suit. The clicks of the camera continue to shoot.

"These look good!" Donatello called back, pausing only to flick through the dozen shots he had taken. He couldn't help but focus in on April, glowing beneath the blaze of the sun and beautiful even in the gag shots.

Unexpectedly, Michelangelo jumped to his feet, practically skipping towards the camera before prying it loose from the grip of his brother. A flitter of confusion crossed Donatello's face, until he detected the unmistakable glint of trouble-making in his brother's eyes.

"Get in next to April, bro. I wanna take some pics of the two of you. Y'know... learn the camera," he grinned, adding a devious tilt to his head, "...see if the composition's good."

Momentarily shocked into silence, Donatello began to shake his head.

"I really don't think-"

"That's it, D! _Don't_ think. _Go_." Michelangelo insisted with a chuckle as he playfully shoved his brother towards their waiting friend. From her position April couldn't make out what they were saying, but quickly understood that Michelangelo had taken the helm. She waited with interest, rolling the sleeves of her linen shirt up her arms.

"C'mon Donnie!" April called out, "Let's make the Christmas card something to talk about!"

Donatello looked back at her, a little disturbed at her suggestion.

"Uh..okay. Sure. Christmas card."

Obligingly he began to walk towards her, heart in his stomach, but not before twisting his head back to shoot a furious imparting glance at his brother.

"Thank me later, bro." Michelangelo chuckled under his breath.

With every step, Donatello felt his nerves flail inside him. He instead decided, on the short stroll to the top of the peak, to pointedly sit beside April without touching her. _That will contain it_ , he promised himself. _Nothing telling can happen that way_. His heart beat unsteadily as he tried to ignore the ever growing feeling of panic. They were friends. Close friends, even. But the prospect of being abnormally close to her sent a shiver of terror racing through him - terror that it might reveal just how much he would like it.

As he approached, April patted the ground beside her.

"Come and sit, I promise I won't bite."

"Oh, I won't mind if you do!" he said brightly, his face instantly falling at the ridiculousness of his reply. He plopped himself down, ensuring a respectable buffer of grass remained between them, "Uh… yeah. Would you remind me to reboot my brain later?"

"And miss out on all your 'witticisms'? Forget it!"

April folded her legs beneath herself and shuffled towards him. Donatello offered her a meek grin in return. The sun was warm on his carapace and skin, and the smell of blooming florets pilfered the air with the sweet promise of summer days ahead. But with April beside him, he could have been in the depths of the southern ocean and felt nothing but the flow of warmth he felt now.

"Mikey insisted he try the camera but...I'm not really photogenic." he explained with an apologetic wave of his hand.

"Don't be ridiculous." she chided, "I've seen you in photos, you look perfectly fine."

"You too. Perfectly fine." His face froze in dismay, "Wow, ah...that didn't sound at all strange. Of course you look fine, you don't look like, um, this-" he explained, quickly glancing down at his body, "What I meant to say was that you seem photogenic."

She bapped him on the arm with the back of her hand and grinned.

"Thanks."

He released a deep exhale. That had been close.

"Wait a second." she murmured.

She flipped his fluttering mask tails back over his shoulder and patted them down.

"That's better."

Satisfied, her hand fell back and splayed out onto the emerald blades of grass, nestling close to the edge of his shell. The intimacy of her gesture thrust his heart into a tremulous skip. _Lilac and apples_...his brain filled in subconsciously. The smell of apples most likely from the cider she'd been making earlier in the day. Lilac her perfume. Beneath them, her skin. He lowered his eyes to the ground, trying to recuperate his thoughts as his skin involuntarily prickled into goosebumps.

To his horror, she noticed it.

"Are you cold?"

Donatello gulped.

"Um...a little, I guess. Partially reptile and all." he cleared his throat nervously and faced ahead with a panicked expression.

" _Closer_." Michelangelo called out from behind the lens, motioning them together with a wave of his hands.

With a cautionary stare drilling into his younger brother, Donatello inched only fractionally towards her but ignoring his reluctance, April leaned forward and wrapped an arm around him, her fingertips falling just shy of his collarbone.

"Like this?" she sang out.

"A _little_ closer."

She leaned into side, her breath leaving in warm streams that raced down his neck and across his shoulder. _Oh god..._ he was teetering on the precipice of heaven and hell _._

"You don't feel cold." she noted.

No. Not any more he didn't.

Michelangelo snapped several photos before he shook his head and pinched his finger and thumb together.

"A _liiiiittle_ closer."

Donatello frowned, "Mikey, if we get any closer we'll be on top of each other."

He clamped his mouth as April burst out laughing. With an inward cringe he quietly thanked every deity under the sun that his green skin gave little clue to his scorching blush.

"April… I am so sorry," Donatello apologized in a desperate whisper as he gripped firmly between his eyes, "That came out _really_ wrong."

"Forget it. I know what you meant."

Back behind the lens, Michelangelo hid his amused grin."Guess it'll have to do for now." he muttered under his breath, pressing down on the camera's trigger button.

"Um, ah - would you like a copy of these?"

"Pardon?" she raised her hand to catch a whipping curl of her hair, slipping it behind her ear.

"Of the pictures." he explained quickly, "The sunset looked nice behind you and Mikey."

"Sure. That'd be great. All of them, okay? These ones, too."

"Um, s-sure. No problem."

April motioned her head towards Michelangelo.

"New camera?"

"Broken one. Tweaked it a little and got it working. I was going to give it to Mikey for his birthday - he doesn't know yet."

She squinted over Michelangelo as he gripped the camera firmly in one hand as he swiveled the large lens to focus the shot.

"That's a nice bit of hardware. Must have been pretty damaged for someone to have pitched it."

He followed her gaze over to Michelangelo.

"It was nothing. Just a little tinkering." he replied with a humble murmur. But in truth, it had been a cracked and rusted paperweight until he'd put his hands on it.

Donatello settled back on the pasture, finally more at ease with the technical talk. This could be any other day at April's, he reasoned, him trying to dissect the contents of her scientific work load as she checked over his programming. But instead they were here as the sun sank behind them, conversing together as the long grass softly tickled their legs. It was nice to be touched - by the grass, by the warmth of the sun... by her. He'd once read that the gentle sensation of touch was actually the lowest register on the scale of pain. That he could believe. It would almost be romantic if the whole family weren't in on it, too.

"So," April inclined her head, appraising her friend's seemingly mild exterior, "Is there anything you don't know how to fix?"

Donatello dropped his head a fraction as he returned her teasing grin. Was she _flirting_ with him? He could live with that. Even with Casey barely a stone's throw away. Don't be ridiculous, he told himself. Why would _she_ , a beautiful and taken woman, flirt with _him_ , a sewer-dwelling mutant?

"Give me some time and I'll usually figure out the basics of most things. Unless, of course, it's _Mikey_..."

"You're lucky to have a brother like him. It's the things that make no sense in this world that are the most fun." she said, sounding less like the scientist she was than ever.

"Try saying that after being on the receiving end of one of his pranks."

"We've got him back pretty good in the past." she countered, "That was fun, right?"

 _Fun?_ he mused. Sometimes her retaliation outright scared him in their brilliance.

"Yeah." he admitted freely, "Fun." His eyes searched her face, dancing across new spray of freckles across her cheeks, "He doesn't stand a chance when we put our heads together."

 _Put_ _our heads together?...I'm just championing the wrong turns of phrase today..._

She snickered, her focus drifting down towards the small grin tugging at his mouth, "I guess we're quite a diabolical force when we want to be."

"You do realize we have to get him back for this?"

She bent an eyebrow, "Oh, yeah. I know that. I have just the thing that will do it, too."

From behind the lens, Michelangelo's smile became toothier. _Perfect._ He fired the shutter release, capturing multiple shots of their intimate conversation. And the way they were looking at each other...he wondered if they could even see it. Probably not. Those two couldn't see the forest for the trees. And they were in a pretty fucking big sequoia forest.

Lifting the camera high, Michelangelo interrupted their growing closeness.

"Okay, all done!

Startled, they leaned away from each other, letting the world around them filter back in. Donatello blinked, unaware that Michelangelo watching.

"But we didn't even-"

"Trust me. I got it." Michelangelo corrected with a shrewd tilt of his mouth.

After observing the whole thing from the deck, Raphael sauntered down beside his young brother, before delivering a sharp slap to the head.

"Ya do know Case is right there _watchin'_ you guys, right?"

He tossed a thumb behind his shoulder towards his lank haired friend leaning on the pine railing and glowering at the golden red sky as Leonardo and Splinter chatted beside him. Casey's gaze shifted darkly over towards April before resting his stubbled chin on his crossed arms.

Michelangelo gave a non-committal shrug.

"Smile for me, bro." he lifted the camera and clicked at Raphael. The flash went off in a dazzling pop. Irritated, Raphael pushed the camera away.

"Get that the hell outta my face."

"I'm just testing Donnie's camera. Nothing wrong with that."

"Wise up, bonehead. Or ya gonna end up with bruises that are about...oh, I dunno, the same size as Case's fists. And you know what? I'm just gonna sit back and watch with the biggest motherfuckin' grin you've ever seen."

"Relax, willya." he looked down at the image preview at Raphael's overexposed grimace, "Heh. That one captures you good."

"Mikey, I'm tryin' ta look out for ya, bro. Don't say I didn't try an' warn ya."

"Look at them, Raph. How can ya say that?"

Raphael's glanced over with heavy set frown to Donatello and April, now sitting further apart as they chatted with familiar ease between themselves. Test shots. Jesus H. Christ, who did he think he was trying to kid?

"That's the problem _right there_ , Mikey." he growled, as he began stalking back towards the verandah.

Michelangelo watched impassively as his brother ascended the stairs - calloused soles mounting the wooden treads with deceptive grace - and wondered he should feel more guilty for stirring trouble, especially after Casey had been hospitable enough to have them at his farmhouse. But for a long while now he had sensed it wasn't all roses and apple pies in the O'Neil and Jones household. In fact, he was sure a break-up was imminent. Chalk it up to a gut feeling, Casey's foul mood swings and April's growing irritation at Casey's buffoonish behavior. And then there way she was with her brother...well, she liked him as a friend in any instance. _Curious_ , maybe. Hopefully enough to try something. Now _that_ he could get on board with - not only because of the fresh range of mockery he could unleash on Donatello, but also because it just seemed... _right_ , somehow. On the same wavelength or something,. Watching April and Casey interact lately, on the other hand, was like watching a human communicate to a chimp - a little less feces being tossed about, maybe, but still, at the end of day someone was covered in shit.

From the grassy meadow, Donatello glanced up from his conversation with April. He had spotted Raphael approaching his younger brother from the corner of his eye, and with roiling dread had soon worked out exactly what it was about. He turned to April with a labored sigh, "I better go take over or we'll end up with our heads cropped off as some kind of tribute to Washington Irving."

She patted him on the forearm, her fingers innocently brushing his as they settled back down on the grass.

"Off you go then, Ichabod."

Reluctantly, he rose to leave. He all but floated back towards Michelangelo, both aggrieved and elated, unwittingly rubbing the spot on his shoulder where April had rested her hand. He felt like he had been bitten there, infected with something now spreading a sweet warmth throughout his chest.

"Thanks, Mikey." he mumbled wryly when within earshot.

Michelangelo returned a knowing grin.

"Anytime." He slapped his brother cheerfully on the arm, "Here. Check 'em out."

With a skeptical cock of his brow, Donatello peered down at the camera's LCD screen as Michelangelo began to navigate through the dozens of shots he had taken. He inhaled sharply. They were _stunning_ \- April and himself encapsulated by halos of flared light. Michelangelo's talent was undeniable. But what began as beautiful candid shots, soon turned into close-up pictures of them inching closer and closer together, their faces sensually approaching each other beneath the tangerine glow of the sun. Donatello startled back - he had no idea just how _cozy_ they had looked.

"Mikey!" Donatello gasped quietly, heat prickling his neck as he wrangled the camera free from his brother. He lowered his voice, trying to conceal his alarm, "Was the zoom-in really necessary?"

"Yeah," Michelangelo chuckled, "I probably wouldn't show those last few to Casey."

"What are you... _insane?!_ " Donatello flicked his eyes behind him, "He's right _there_."

"Huh? Is there an echo out here or something?"

The frustration on Donatello was more than evident, he dropped his head into his hand, only to raise it again.

"Excuse me?"

"Heheh, yeah. Raph kinda clued me in on the whole Casey thing. But hey. I'm just the _messenger_. Did you get...the _message_?" His tipped his head askew at the question.

"Your _message_? You mean the _message_ you were hammering into anyone within earshot?"

Michelangelo's eyes darted around, trying to work out exactly how much trouble he was in.

"Uh...yeah."

"Yeah. I got it. So, incidentally, did life forms on the other side of the galaxy, beating out SETI in their quest to contact alien life. I'd shake your hand, but I think I'd end up wringing your neck."

"Listen, I know you're mad now," Michelangelo tutted, "but trust me. One day you'll be saying, 'Mikey, does your _mind_ come with the streak knives, 'cause put me down for two - mine is _buh-lown_!'"

Donatello's face screwed up in abject confusion: "What are you _talking_ about?"

From the small rise, April pushed aside her long bangs and squinted back towards the Michelangelo and Donatello.

"Hey!" she called out, "How'd they come out?"

Michelangelo answered, cutting off any chance for Donatello to unravel his scheming:

" _Great!_ " he shouted back, with a kiss of his fingertips, "Turns out I have a good eye." his lips stretched into a wide grin as he glanced back at Donatello. April held up a thumb, and dropped it back down with a smile.

"Neat!"

Just that little word, just her carefree smile had Donatello's heart pounding with adoration. He slowly shifted his attention back towards his brother.

" _Please_." Donatello begged under his breath, "Please don't make this more difficult than it already is."

A note of sadness crossed Michelangelo's face, empathetic to the genuine distress he had caused his brother. He clipped him on the arm with a light punch.

"Hey. Don't worry about it, bro. I can fix this."

Horrified at the suggestion, Donatello was on the verge of protesting when Michelangelo had already set the wheels in motion:

"GROUP SHOT!"

Michelangelo dropped his hands that were cupped around his mouth and waved briskly at the porch where the remainder of his family were still observing the waning sunlight.

"Hang on!" Leonardo called back, "We'll be right there!"

With a grin bordering on smirking, Michelangelo pointed towards April.

"I'm just gonna head back in."

Donatello flicked his gaze between the two.

"Um, sure." He paused a moment then threw in a sweetener he knew his brother couldn't resist, "In fact...go sit right in the middle."

"You mean...right up next to April? You sure you don't want me to take the photo?"

Donatello pressed his mouth into a straight line.

"I'm just gonna take that as a no." he began to walk backwards, "But, you know what Splinter always says, bro. _Being_ brave is _actin_ g brave."

"Splinter never says that, Mikey"

"Well. He should." Michelangelo winked in his direction, then twisted back around to continue up the small incline. Donatello silently watched as he scooped April up and set her back down with a twirl. She laughed at his playfulness, delivering a light slap to his shell. Donatello let out a heavy sigh. He could never do that. Be as natural as Michelangelo.

"He starting trouble, again?" Leonardo asked, suddenly beside him.

Donatello nodded with a wince, "Scorpion and the frog. And guess which one I am?"

Leonardo gave a reassuring tap on his shell and headed in, "I'll keep an eye on him for you."

With a worried frown, Donatello watched as the others filtered down the porch stairs and gathered themselves in: Raphael begrudgingly locating himself at Michelangelo's side as Casey slipped in behind April, massaging her shoulders as he whispered something into her ear. She giggled. Donatello looked down at the camera's panel, trying to casually avoid their outward display of affection. A moment passed where he did nothing but wait before finally he looked back up.

"I'm going to set the timer and run in." Donatello told them, balancing the camera on the porch rails.

Stationed beside Michelangelo, Raphael turned to his brother to issue a warning:

"No bunny ears, no nothin', _got it_?"

"You got it, bro. Nothing but love." Michelangelo grinned, knowing the last few words would irk his brother. Hopefully _just_ enough.

Raphael scowled suspiciously as he settled back. Finally satisfied with the framing, Donatello lifted his head over the viewfinder.

"Okay. Are you all ready?"

A chorus of staggered and half-hearted affirmations greeted him.

"Just take the damn thing, Don." Raphael groaned impatiently, "And don't ask me ta smile, 'cause it ain't happenin'."

Ignoring the usual lack of enthusiasm, Donatello glanced up at the small crowd, beaming happily. It was a rare occurrence to get a family shot, not by design but rather lack of it, and a bittersweet feeling of sentimentality couldn't help but take hold of him. Maybe Mikey's plan wasn't so absurd after all. His gaze lingered briefly on April. She caught him looking and quickly raised her brows with a grin.

"Just a warning: it'll flash three times then take the photo. Okay then...3...2...1... smi- I mean, say 'Einstein!'"

Donatello depressed the timer button, bounded over from the porch and slotted himself on the far edge beside Splinter. A little _too_ far he realized in retrospect. He was surprised to suddenly to feel April reach over and quickly pull him.

"Get in here. You're orbiting!"

He stumbled to her side. Casey's last remnants of his pleasant mood dissolved as he possessively snaked an arm around her waist and held her firmly. Donatello secretively glanced down.

 _She's still holding my hand..._

The same thought must have passed through April as she let go.

"Sorry." she slipped her whisper towards him under her breath.

A glint of mischief flickered in Michelangelo's eyes. _Nothing but love_ , he reiterated in his mind. He waited for the signal. Then it came.

 _Flash. Flash._

Just as the third flash warned of the impending shot, Michelangelo threw his arms out to embrace his surly brother. Preemptively spotting the movement, Leonardo kicked out the back of his legs, causing him to pitch forward and land flat on his plastron. The air knocked from his chest with a flat thump.

" _Ow!"_

 _Click!_

Instantly calculating what had happen, Raphael turned.

"You little _punk._ "

He jumped, landing heavily onto his youngest brother and began wailing on him with bunched fists. Not the serious ones, Donatello realized, just the "playful" ones that left pretty bruises, surprisingly measured to dish out just the required amount of pain.

"AGHHH! Quit it! I was only gonna give you a hug!"

"Hug _this_ , goofball!"

Unexpectedly, Michelangelo went in for the double shot.

"Buy me a drink first, sonny." Michelangelo's rasped in an old woman's voice. From beneath Raphael, he grabbed his head, pulling him down and planting a theatrically sloppy smack on his brother's cheek.

It was on.

Raphael went in blazing.

"You are DEAD."

Another punch landed. Then another.

Through the vindicated laughter of the spectators, the addition of Casey and Leonardo to the brawl, and the eventual intervention of Splinter; Donatello had noticed something he had not forgotten to this day - the secretive wink his brother had given him as Raphael had been painfully jamming his arm upwards, as if to say: _There you go, all fixed_. It was as if Michelangelo had known: known what Leonardo would do, known what Raphael would do...and known how much of a distraction the fiasco would divert from the original one he had created. And for the first time Donatello thought that maybe Michelangelo was a hell of a lot smarter than he gave him credit for.

Still laughing at the diversion, April looked up, catching Donatello's eye. She shrugged and jabbed her thumb at the melee which had decidedly negated their need for revenge. Donatello smiled back.

 _He threw himself to the wolves for me._..Donatello thought with growing admiration. Sure, he may have attracted the wolves in the first place, but still. Mikey always came through. Impossible to grasp as air, and just as vital. He folded his arms in front of him, gingerly taking a step back from the flailing of limbs.

"Where do ya think _yer_ goin', Egghead?" Raphael snarled, dragging him into the fight by the ankle.

Donatello yelped as he landed on his shell with and skidded across the ground, instantly beset upon by four hulking figures. Thinking fast, he decided if he was in this thing, he was going to give as good as he got. His shock turned into the desire for retribution and soon all four brothers and Casey were tumbling around the grass trying to best each other in a game of punch the leader.

April shook her head sadly, gripping Splinter's shoulder for support.

"I suppose we should just let them blow off a little steam?"

Splinter flicked his tail to lay beside him and gave a subtle nod. He'd let them blow off steam alright. Starting at the crack of dawn with extra bouts of endurance training - perhaps even dishing out an extra dose to his youngest.

"I have found this to be the best course of action, Miss O'Neil." Splinter leaned forward onto his cane, shaking his head at his unruly students. "And it is quite humorous to see them training the next day with injuries of their own making."

Legs, arms, and mask tails flew haphazardly amidst graphic threats and cries of pain.

"I like your style, Sensei." she turned her attention back towards the railing, "Excuse me a minute, but I've _got_ to get some photos of this."

April headed back to the porch, picking up the camera with a amused toss of her head. After figuring out its cryptic arrangement of buttons, she began to scroll over the last few shots. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of the pictures Michelangelo had taken. She felt a strange skip in her heart, lingering on the last one of her and Donatello.

" _Oh._.."

She looked up over at the field where Donatello still was rumbling around with the others. He glanced up and spotted her with the camera, offering a brief wave before being pulled back under. A small grin appeared on her mouth as she held the camera to her eye, snapping away at the brawl, trying to ignore the fluttering bird trapped inside her chest.

"Hey April!" Michelangelo shouted over the commotion, "Don't forget zoom out so ya can fit in Raph's head." he cackled with laughter.

Raphael broke away from mid-pummel from Casey and began to charge. They took off like bullets across the lawn, Raphael in hot pursuit and Michelangelo's squealing pleas for help falling on deaf ears.

And as the years had passed, things changed in just the way Michelangelo had always suspected - Donatello's friendship with April blossoming into fully fledged love. Something real and tangible. Something true. And somehow Michelangelo had always known, and had been his champion from the time before he thought it even possible for them to ever be together. Before it was even _appropriate_ , more disturbingly. Deciding on whether his mischievous brother was merely certifiable or mastermind disguising himself as one, he realized one thing - out of them all, Michelangelo was always attuned to the slightest emotional variances of his brothers. And in this ability alone, a master worthy of the highest esteem.

...

"Well, turns out you were right about them, also. But you know that. Could see it before any of us could, probably. Maybe before they could even admit it to themselves."

Raphael paused, briefly thinking of the time his studious brother had futilely tried to catch up on lost sleep back after Leonardo had been knocked unconscious in a dirty gang fight. Donatello had stayed awake for days trying everything to address the injuries, doing anything he could to keep him alive. April had been his constant companion the whole time. Together they had somehow hooked him up to the oldest life support system on Earth that still had power running through it - stuck an IV into his veins, pumped him full of drugs, reset his bones...sewed him up. Kept him going against the odds. A fighting chance.

As a team, they were formidable.

Those two had something going, alright. Love didn't seem enough to describe it. He remembered distinctly the first time he had stumbled upon them kissing, a long time ago now - Donatello's hand resting on the cement wall above her shoulder as they pressed against each other. ' _Make me'_ , she had murmured teasingly into his brother's ear. Raphael thought at first he'd find it strange, to see them together, but remembered thinking it was anything but. Something more real than he'd ever seen with her and Casey. Something special. He'd been happy for them ever since.

"Donnie still has those photos ya took. He's crazy 'bout em. He and April framed that one...y'know...the one Case lost his shit over back in the day? Where there's only the smallest bit of light comin' between their faces as they're lookin' at each other. You were a little shit doin' that to 'em, but...seems like you caught the spark that started the fire, bro. Or maybe you started it. Heh, who knows? And here I thought I was the little pyromaniac. Casey's happy now, too." his eyes dropped and his voice quietened, "Kinda funny how life works out sometimes."

"Something else I never told ya...but I got the other picture. Y'know. The one you fucked up with ya little bit. Yer half way from landin' on ya ass in it. Got it hung right on my wall. I like lookin' at it sometimes - all of us out at Case's place. One of the only ones we got of us all. Heh. And guess what? That one was your idea, too."

...


	8. Reflections

A/N: Just a quick interlude type of chapter thing that had to fit somewhere. Apologies for the infrequent posting, I will aim to fix that :) Also, recently went to see the new movie - what do you think? It's far from perfect but it is so good to see the boys. Plus I got a reusable sippy cup with the popcorn that I now treasure. I digress/ please enjoy!

* * *

"Uh, Mikey?"

"Gimme a sec, bro."

Raphael waited, eyes scanning his brother's overcrowded room, jammed with the kinds of things that took twice as much space, he was sure, in Michelangelo's head. Gradually Michelangelo looked up from the sketch he was in the middle of rendering, coming out of a trance as he retrained his attention towards the interruption. He placed his sharpened lead alongside the paper before bursting out into a loud and impromptu drumming on the edge of his desk. To what tune, Raphael could only guess.

"What _up_ , Raphie?"

Raphael quickly glanced down at the drawing. Michelangelo had been copying an older photo taken nearly a year earlier out at Casey's farmhouse in Northhampton where the rest of the family had gathered to watch the sunset. The two images sat side by, illuminated by the soft phosphorescence of a lamp that Raphael rarely saw off.

"You – uh – you did that, huh?"

He hoped he didn't sound too surprised.

"Yep. What do ya think?" Michelangelo hovered the slips of paper beneath his chin, "It's for Sensei's room. I was in there earlier - don't ask, dude – and kinda noticed he needs some home-grown decor from the new millennium. See, I even fixed it up so I'm not falling over. Well – _hehe_ … where I'm not being collected by Leo's foot in my shell, anyway. Ya think he'd go for it?"

The rendition was flawless. Raphael knew his brother could draw, but had no idea just how much he'd developed his skills over the last few years. Like he was excelling unnoticed. But then again, who would notice? It was not like the four of them shared a hell of a lot of common interests beyond their training and the odd slice. Sure, they could goof off together without too much thought, but this seemed different somehow. A deliberate and thoughtful part of him. Something that required effort. Something that Mikey wasn't ever normally accused of doing.

"Um, yeah." Raphael nodded with what he hoped appeared to be a genuine, albeit crooked, grin, "He'd be nuts not to. But listen, Mikey, 'bout what happened up on Petroni's…"

"Ya mean on the tower?" Michelangelo prompted, "Dude…I'm sorry. _Really,_ sorry. I already had Donnie in here talking about something ta do with gravity and probability; then Leo ta do with responsibility and accountability - and I admit, it was not my finest idea climbing that thing. But geez, ya weren't supposed to fall. That's gonna give me nightmares for like, _forever_."

Raphael bolstered himself uneasily, shifting on his feet. His eyes settled on the screwed up paper in the wastebasket beside the desk. More of his brother's creative writing.

"No." he answered in an even voice as he could manage, "That's not was I was gonna say. I mean, sure, it was a dumb idea but... you did good, Mikey. Might 'a saved my life."

"Mighta?"

At that, Raphael scooped up his brother's head into the crook of his elbow and ground down his knuckles. Instead of struggling against the noogie, Michelangelo relaxed, all too aware of how quickly it could turn rough. Well, rough- _er_. Raphael chuckled deeply and released him with a light punch.

"Yeah. _Might_ 'a."

"Man - it _hurts_ when ya do that."

"Then we're even, eh?"

"Whatever, dude. Ya still owe me ya firstborn." Michelangelo gestured towards his laptop, "Or lucky for you I accept this little thing called Pay pal, now. And hey, I've been trying ta flip a Robocop custom on ebay for _weeks_. I scratch your back… you scratch mine?"

"Put it on the tab, baby bro ', cause I think ya way behind me on that count."

Michelangelo made a pointed stab towards his brother's feet.

"Mmm, ahuh - _pretty_ sure that's only 'cause ya not counting ya toxic situation down there."

"Is that how this is going down, huh? I come in ta thank you and you lay down the shit talk?"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Michelangelo quickly shot up from the desk with hands held high in surrender, " _Truce_!"

"Relax, lame-brain, ya gettin' a pass for one night. _Only_."

At the assurance of amnesty, Michelangelo looked down at his drawing, eyes tracing his competent line work. His voice softened, revealing the Michelangelo that rarely appeared. Present and unfaltering perceptive.

"Ya know, Raph - this picture would be messed up if you weren't in it. I'm just glad you're okay."

Raphael suppressed a shudder. He'd been quite deliberate in not thinking about his near miss earlier that week. About the panic as he dropped into nothingness. About how his armor of fury sloughed away to reveal raw fear. Or about how Michelangelo had caught him before it had become an irreversible reality. Just mentioning it now was doing his head in, forcing him to face how fleetingly they clung to life. Worrying, he'd decided long ago, was Leonardo's job. And he'd happily let him have it.

"Yeah." Raphael responded with a brisk nod of his head. "Me too."

The mask of mischief came back to Michelangelo's face. With a twinkle in his eye, he divulged something on his mind.

"You were in front, bro."

Raphael blinked, at first trying to understand what his brother was talking about:

"Huh?"

"The race on the tower. Now I'm not saying you were gonna win, 'cause Leo was hot on ya heels, man… but, yeah - you were in front."

"Heh." Raphael looked askance with a snigger, "How 'bout that?"

"Are ya going to let him know?"

"Let him know? Let him _know_?" He reached out, re-punching his brother's shoulder. Michelangelo winced at Raphael's uncanny knack for knowing how hard to hit without actually knocking him over. "I'm gonna make him _eat_ it."

Michelangelo's laugh froze into a wary smile.

"Dude. You should probably cut him a break. I saw him in the dojo last night muttering out a play by play of our Dragon mixer the other day. He kinda goes a little, y'know," he twirled a finger near his skull, "Whackadoodle with the reruns in his head."

Raphael's mouth pinched in thought.

"Really, huh? Guess he gets like that sometimes."

"So... that's why you Raphed out on him? 'Cause he's a worry wart that likes to cross the T's?"

The look of superiority on Raphael's face broke as he took in Michelangelo's interpretation of events:

"I was givin' him a dose of the _truth_."

"A-huh."

"I mean, he needs ta hear it from someone. You an' Donnie just put up with his shit without question. You see how he is when Karai's around - what kind of fucking joke is _that_?"

"A-huh."

"Yeah, so maybe I was lettin' it get personal." Raphael sighed and rubbed at his face, "But, hell, it's my _nature_ ta take it personal. And maybe I did get outta line up there – it's just – _argh!_ If I was leadin', I sure as hell wouldn't go traisping 'round on the rooftops with the Daddy's Little Nightmare, that's fer goddamned sure."

"Raph – put it this way: I trust the both of ya. No question. So when the both of you are saying the same thing is a different color, I'm going ta get a little lost. But if there's one thing I know, Leo may have his shell on sideways over this chick, but he'd never choose her over us. We're all just, y'know, looking out for each other. Cause we're all we got. He knows that."

"That's my point. It ain't just Leo's way or the highway. We all got some say, right? We all have a brain. Hell, Donnie has at least one."

"Yeah…" Michelangelo chuckled, "Try three."

Raphael sniffed sharply. A heavy sigh passed by his lips as he drew a hand across his face. "Why does he have to be such a goddamned dick?"

"Leo? Dude. He ain't never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down."

"Mikey. Don't you dare Rick Roll me right now."

"Never gonna run around and-"

" _Mikey_."

"-desert you."

"I swear to God, Mikey-"

Again Michelangelo threw his hands up in surrender before reaching up to his mouth to zip closed his mouth. He made to unzip his mouth.

"All I'm saying is - we fight better when we're all on the same side. Yeah, so Leo's stubborn. At least he's _our_ stubborn."

Raphael fell quiet a moment, recalling some distant memory.

"Must run in the family." he finally grumbled, mostly to himself.

Michelangelo gasped with feigned shock, "Dude, ya don't say?"

Raphael didn't buy his brother's naivete for one second.

"You better believe it. Give the damn energizer bunny a run for his money and saved my hide a time or two, that's fer sure."

"I'm sensing a story."

Raphael folded his arms and stared at his toes intently. After a small time he snort-chuckled.

"Did I ever tell ya 'bout the time Leo an' I got lost in the subterranean tunnels when we were kids? Still coulda been down there if we both weren't tryin' to beat each other topside."

This time Michelangelo swiveled to attention. It was a well regarded fact that it was rare for Raphael to take a stroll down memory lane (or the deeper and darker subterranean counterparts) but when he had a story to tell, damn, he had a story to tell. He could only imagine the catalogue of crazy shit he still had on file. The one he had told about the albino alligator had kept him out of the sewers for weeks.

"Dude…" He leaned into the desk and propped up his head, "When did this happen? And... more importantly, where was I?"

"Heh, well, we were scoutin' the tunnels for something for ya birthday, Mikey. So ya weren't exactly invited ta this one. Donnie was sick that week with the flu, so he was all laid up in bed. Remember, we had only just started sneakin' out and we didn't know the layout of the lower levels so well back then. You heard of the Catacombs in Paris, right? Well they ain't got shit on some of the stuff down there. We took a wrong turn, ended up fallin' down a shaft and couldn't get back up it." Raphael paused to laugh at what would have most certainly been a terrifying event. He hooked a milk-crate by his foot and dragged it over, plonking himself down.

"And this was _before_ we had T-cells. Man, I thought we were _cooked_ …"

...


	9. Shadowboxer

A/N: Between a broken computer, lack of motivation, and indecisive chapter arrangement, this one has been a long time coming. A different chapter was due to come out, but this one called out first. I thank you for your patience and for sticking around. Fingers crossed the next one is not too far behind, and a change of pace to boot.

* * *

9\. SHADOWBOXER

The frigid evening was cloudy, causing the city's million lights to lacquer the black night with a burnt orange corona. Leonardo was crouched by a brick turret, his mask tails streaking behind him in the idling air as he scanned the surrounding rooftops. Michelangelo observed his brother with a curious expression, waiting quietly with hands resting on his nunchucks. How Leonardo was able to detect those lingering phantoms had always baffled him. It was as if they were a different shade of darkness to the night itself, and he the only one that could detect the difference.

Leonardo's face relaxed, and Michelangelo instantly followed suit.

"Okay, Mikey, you're the one that wanted to do some 'one on one' training up here, so let's not waste anymore time."

The 'here' he referred to was a late 19th century tenement, at the center of which contained a wide semi-recessed skylight. Its particular location offered privacy, a water tower, and various other protrusions that allowed for a varied terrain, good for sparring, and one they had taken advantage of numerous times.

"Alright, but I do have one request." Michelangelo poised a tentative finger up in the air. He shifted his weight casually, sliding his foot along the weather battered cement.

Leonardo snapped his head back over his shoulder. A quick flicker over his brother's guarded posture told him something was afoot.

"And what's that?"

"Well," Michelangelo started with a meek smile, "I was hoping to practice with a katana...now before you say no, remember the foot have had like, a whole bunch of swordies lately. And I just wanna get more practice so I don't get my tail kicked."

Leonardo blinked, his head dropping a touch.

 _Swordies?_

"Y'know, ninjas on all kinds of swords." Michelangelo explained as if obvious, "Butterfly. Samurai. _Wakizashi._ _Shuang gou_ . Machetes. Cutlass. Plus a whole bunch of bladed weapons that seem to rush at ya all at once when you have something made outta wood."

Leonardo's eyed his brother suspiciously:

"I get it." There had to be an ulterior motive here somewhere, Michelangelo was unlikely to forget a weapon as he was his sense of humor.

"So... I might need to borrow one of yours."

"I wish you had mentioned this before we left. You could have a least brought a spare training sword from the dojo with you."

"Please, Leo, can I just use one of yours for tonight?" Michelangelo clasped his hands, "It's good for the team!"

 _Be patient,_ Leonardo thought to himself quietly, _he'll let it out eventually._

"Fine." he answered, nodding with curt permission, "But no messing around."

In one quick movement he reached back and slid his katana noiselessly from their leather sheaths. He held them briefly in his hands, locked by a primal instinct not to split them, before finally tossing the left towards his brother.

"Heads up, Mikey."

Michelangelo snapped the handle out of the air and grinned wolfishly at the weapon in his hands. He twisted it once, twice, admiring the gleam of the blade in the meager light.

"You keep a clean sword, bro." he began swung it in a slow arc, complete with light saber sound effects, lowering his voice to say, " _Leo, I am your father._ " - before locking it at back into a perfectly poised attack position.

Leonardo's brief irritation soon dissolved. So. He did remember how to hold it, at least.

"Another thing-" Michelangelo said, interrupting his observation with an upward arch of a brow, "Perhaps you should take a 'chuck - kinda as collateral? Fair's fair, am I right?"

He reached to his side and dislodged a nunchacku. The one strapped to his right. Leonardo attention ticked over, quickly recounting that his young brother was ambidextrous - a natural with both hands and a perfect match to the nunchaku on either. He gripped his remaining katana, ready for any cunning trip-up in store. With a mischievous grin, Michelangelo dropped his 'chuck, catching it with his foot before kicking it up towards Leonardo's head.

Diversion in place, he charged.

Without missing a beat Leonardo smacked the careening weapon away with the hilt of his katana, quickly regaining ground as Michelangelo advanced. Leonardo deflected the blows with a satisfactory twitch of his mouth. Michelangelo was good. But sloppy. Leonardo soon had him at the level, impressed by his tactic.

"Nice distraction, Mikey." The praise was genuine. "But not good enough."

"This is nothin', bro." Michelangelo panted between his futile strikes. He backed off, waiting for his brother's offensive movements to begin.

"Been practicing on your own?" Leonardo asked with a grunt, leaving the question hanging before going in swift series of maneuvers. But Michelangelo avoided the antagonistic strikes with idle swings of his body, his body twisting as freely as a leaf in the wind. Leonardo was more than impressed...he found himself envious. There was only one other he knew that could so effortlessly dodge such a hostile series of strikes without even drawing a weapon: _Splinter._

"More like, watching the Foot's style. Kinda see it coming from the moon. Well. I can. You?" he spun low to the ground, before pouncing up to swoop the katana around. He was as quick as lightening, but with a little foresight Leonardo was easily able to contain him. Metal struck metal blithely, a metallic squeal and screech as they parted. They both shifted back.

"I'm familiar with their techniques. They change only a little in their battles with us."

On hearing this, Michelangelo switched hands, the katana now in his right.

"How about _this_ move?"

He went in with a blind strike, something that would be more than easy to deflect. Leonardo smacked it away, a faint inkling of where this was headed stirring in this mind. Michelangelo swiveled the katana lazily in his hand, preparing for a new attack.

"And _this_?"

Michelangelo lunged with an obvious bumble. Leonardo countered easily, his face now morphing into a furious glare.

"Or _this_?"

Again a simple move, not only to stop, but to transform into a lethal strike at the original assailant. With a quick movement, Leonardo knocked that katana from his brother's hand, and had him on the ground, the tip of his sword held menacingly to his throat. Panting, Michelangelo froze, his eyes tracing down the length of the blade and back up into Leonardo's slitted eyes. He offered a weak smile.

"Hey, easy there, Leo. It's just me."

Leonardo pulled away with a grunt, dropping his sword back down to his side with a quick swipe.

"Enough of this foolishness." he growled lowly, "What are you getting at?"

It was a defensive lie, and he was ashamed at how flimsy it sounded.

"C'mon, bro. Do I _really_ need to show you all the other moves you went easy on Karai with? I mean, if I could see those moves from the moon, you should see them from Jupiter. And I know she's good, but man. _You_ know you're better. _I_ know you're better. So something isn't adding up."

Leonardo fell silent. Addressing the tell, Michelangelo continued:

"Look, I'm not trying to bust you, Leo, but if you're not shooting at the same hoop as the rest of us, you gotta let us know. I almost got my tail filleted last week by some foot-goons she ordered, so I know what I'm talking about here."

Leonardo's face burned, suddenly ashamed at being so utterly readable when he thought he'd done everything he could to obscure his burgeoning desire for the beautiful and dangerous Foot commander. Even worse was being called out for it, because Michelangelo was right. In his irrational attempts to conceal his feelings, he had put them all in harms way.

"You brought me all the way up here to tell me this?" he snarled between set teeth, "We could have just had a _private_ word back home."

A glint of humor bounced off Michelangelo's eyes.

"Yeah... but... Raph thinks you're in denial. Donnie thinks you're in denial. And I think ya better learn how ta start swimming cause you're so deep in de-Nile you can't even see _land_."

Leonardo winced at his brother's telling assessment.

"I am not in _denial_ about anything, Mikey. It's just... it's not that simple."

Michelangelo sighed, "Maybe, but I don't know-"

Leonardo cut him off: "You're exactly right. You _don't_ know. You don't know what it's like to take the risk knowing it might not pay off, that everything you care about could be lost."

"Then fill me in, 'cause Raph's just been looking for an excuse rip ya shell off, bro. He's got the crowbar picked out and everything. Let me clue you in: it's _rusty_."

Leonardo paused as he took inspection at what had been playing on his mind for months, _no years_ , he corrected - since the very first time one had gotten seriously injured in battle. It had been Donatello. Outnumbered even he couldn't escape the near lethal blow to his skull. Until then, everything had been a game. Cops and robbers. Ninjas and Foot. Almost losing a brother had made it that more apparent how high the stakes were for them. They were not a faceless mass of people, a clan of underhanded thugs bound together by opportunity and convenience. They were four brothers. That was it. No-one was coming to replace them. If one of them fell, they all did.

"Tell me, Mikey," he began calmly, "Do you ever get sick of fighting? Knowing there's no end?"

Michelangelo was taken aback at the question, "Ah, I... sure. I guess?"

Leonardo answered instead.

"Sometimes I think it's the only we really have in common anymore. Us four. Fighting a common enemy. And that scares me a little." he bent down to scoop up his swords twin before slotting it back behind him. In the beat of quiet came the soft scrape of metal against leather. He looked back at Michelangelo, curious to know if he'd deny what he'd put forth."I've been thinking – maybe it's time to put the fighting to rest. Karai might be the only way we could do that."

Michelangelo glanced skyward into the darkness and sighed.

"Leo...you gotta know...this - _this_ is gonna be a problem. She's the _foot_. And the Shredder's _daughter_. I just think...I dunno." Michelangelo paused to watch his brother's reaction, but found it as maddeningly inscrutable as ever, "And I don't think what we have in common has to be this fighting bullcrap. I mean, really - we are so much more awesome than that. But I'll hear you out, man. What is it? What is it about her that can help us?"

Leonardo paused to consider. What _was_ it about her? The way she moved, like liquid circling a drain? The way she zeroed in on him in every battle, throwing words sharper than knives? No. There was something else.

"I...I don't think she's a bad person. She's had plenty of opportunities to take us down. Think about it, Mikey. It would invaluable to have someone in her position as an ally. We could finally end our feud. Have peace between our clans."

"Ally? That's a funny name for sworn enemy, bro. And we've all got the cuts and bruises to prove she only looks out for _numero uno_."

"I know I could get through to her. I know it sounds crazy, but I think it can be done."

"Say if she did do that, Leo - how could you trust someone that isn't even loyal to their own side? Feed her any info and all ya'd be doing is painting a big red X on our shells."

"Yes. I have considered that." he conceded, "Still."

A scoff of doubt left Michelangelo, "Do tell."

"I trust her." Leonardo said simply, "I believe deep down she knows what's right."

Michelangelo blinked, his troubled gaze dropping down to quiet streets, watching as a taxi sailed by a small group of people in the distance.

"Maybe. But man, sometimes I don't even know what's right. It's not like they are the only bad guys, y'know? I mean, I don't mind when we're _winning_. When we're winning it's awesome. When we're _winning_."

Michelangelo head dipped pointedly at the last word. Even he was not stupid enough to think they'd come out of every battle unscratched. Leonardo admired his insight, quietly shocked at its perception. But he never did give Michelangelo the credit he was due. Something that he was determined to amend as of now.

"Winning." Leonardo said honestly, open with another soul in the first time since he could remember, "What does that even mean to us anymore? All I see is another chance to get killed for an extra five minutes of peace."

"A piece of cake."

Leonardo swung his laser-like focus back at his brother, a little taken aback.

"Mikey, I don't think winning is meant to be easy-"

"No, bro." Michelangelo corrected, "Not like that- I mean, winning is supposed to be something we want. For us I think it's ta keep us all together. Something Splinter was trying to tell me once. I mean… isn't that what you want?"

Leonardo lids closed.

"Okay, then. I'll play. I want our family not to always be at war. I want us to have as much of a chance as we can to have normal things. I want us to be happy." Leonardo flitted on the edge of his heart's unspoken desire, "I don't know if any of the things I want will happen. But that does not make me want them any less."

Michelangelo let out a drawn out and calming _hmmm_ , as he contemplated his brother's seemingly vague motivations. He tapped the empty space where his right nunchaku should have been, as if searching for a weapon of a different kind.

"You really like this girl, don't ya?"

Leonardo almost toppled over: "Wh-what?"

"Don't answer, bro." Michelangelo chuckled, "Look, if you think brokering a truce with the Foot will work – we'll follow you. We may be wearing anti-assault riot gear- but we'll follow you."

"Raph... he'll…" Leonardo shook his head, "I don't think I can budge him."

"No," Michelangelo corrected yet again, "He will. Even Splinter thinks so."

Leonardo gave a confused and semi-horrified toss of his head, "S-Splinter knows about this?"

"About you mooning over Karai? Oh! No, no, no. Are you kidding, dude? NO. Relax. He doesn't know about your feelings for uh, you-know-who. It's just me… and Raph. And Donnie. Oh, and April" He wriggled his hand in the air, "Maybe Casey. Also, some poetry may exist on the subject."

"Oh." Leonardo practically swallowed the word. Finally he released a deep exhale, "You know I would only ever do this if I thought it gave us a chance for something better."

Michelangelo quietly chuckled. "Yeah, I kinda get that."

The affirmation touched him. Out of all the people he thought he'd be confiding to, Leonardo never would have believed it would be Michelangelo. But he had been wrong, arrogant in his decision to discount his young sibling's advice. Perhaps all the times being called to Splinter's room for punishment had rubbed some wisdom into him. If anything, he was proving to be a remarkable listener. A soundboard without the stark criticism of Donatello or hair-trigger fury of Raphael.

Raphael.

It always boiled down to Raphael. The final stumbling block to any move.

"How do you do it, Mikey? How do you get through to him?"

Michelangelo shrugged as if it were nothing.

"Believe it or not, dude, you two are way more alike than ya wanna know."

This was not the first time Leonardo had heard this, but perhaps the first time he was willing to look it in the eye.

"Humor me."

Michelangelo did.

"Well," he began after a little hesitation, "It's like ya both staring in the same direction but wanna take different ways there. I think what matter is in the end is that we get there, right?"

"So cut him some slack?"

"Sure, I guess." Michelangelo dipped his head, "Maybe cut the both of you some slack." An uncanny eeriness came across Michelangelo, a shift in temperament that Leonardo was not familiar with. A newfound depth that age had granted. "So, you really think this could work?"

"We have to make a choice to play the odds, or call it. Because as long as the Foot are around and have a vendetta against us, we're not safe."

"That's 'cause they're like spiders, bro. Kill one, and ten come back."

Wasn't that the truth.

Michelangelo cradled his knees and thought more.

"Did you ever think that... maybe _we're_ the ones that should leave the city? We could leave all this behind."

It had been one of many questions that had haunted Leonardo relentlessly of late - Why were they still fighting? Would there ever be an end to it? The burden of each and every decision weighed heavily upon him as he struggled to keep everyone's head above water as all the while the ceiling drew closer. So often had he tried to downplay the inevitable end he could see coming if nothing changed. Soon there would be no denying it. He had lain awake many nights his heart thudding over things that could have gone wrong in battle. One day it would come to collect. And who would be the first victim of that stumble? Who would it take first? No small part of him hoped that it was himself, to spare him the agony of seeing it happen to another.

"I'd be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind. We have a price on our collective heads. And they are on a mission to find us. But the city, _this_ city, is the safest place we could be. No one knows the sewers like we do. No one knows every back alley and rooftop around here like us. Which takes me back to my original point. Perhaps the only way to truly end this is to finally let those wounds close with the Foot. Seal off this territory as ours. End the vendetta. Karai may be our only chance of that happening. I know we can't save everyone in this city and it's naïve to think otherwise, but we sure as hell can look after our home."

Michelangelo paused to consider this information.

"I trust you, Leo. But I think the real question here is: Why don't ya trust us? If that's what you've been thinking, ya gotta let us in." He watched as his older brother ingested this. The look of change across his face provoked another insightful response, "Geez. Ya still see me like that don't ya? Like a little kid? Shocked that I got two thoughts to rub together in the ol' melon?" he tapped his head incredulously, "You're not the only one that grew up. And it's not just you against the Foot. It never was. We're supposed to look out for each other. Y'know. _Us_ against _them_. You are – _aware_ – of that, right?"

Duly reprimanded, Leonardo assented with a slight nod.

"You're right, Mikey. I'll talk to the others. See what they have to say."

...


	10. Exit The Dragon

A/N: Another little flashback. Hopefully the next will be up within a week. Comments always welcome!

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10\. EXIT THE DRAGON

"You are so _dead_ , Mikey."

Raphael followed his no-nonsense assessment with a raspy chuckle, folding his arms at his chest. No matter what day of the week, no matter how boring the daily grind, he could always count on Michelangelo to bring a show. "Ya think Splinter's gonna let you keep that thing in here? A _cat_? Around a _rat_? Ya been smokin' the good stuff again, baby bro?"

Donatello shook his head as the knotted frown between Leonardo's eyes deepened. Even still, Michelangelo could not help but feel slightly wounded at their lack of surprise.

"That's why I'm _not_ gonna tell him." Michelangelo looked wildly around at his brothers, "At least...not yet. _Please_ don't let him know. Let me soften him up a bit. Get him used ta the idea. Be on my best behavior. Brush up on the training. Maybe a week or two is all I'm asking?"

"You are kidding, right?" Donatello posed with an incredulous flicker, "This is Splinter we're talking about. Splinter can smell what flavor ice-cream we have in the freezer. From his _room_. He's going to figure out something's up the second we glance in its direction."

Michelangelo looked desperately over to Leonardo. Leo Skywalker. His only hope.

"Leo, you're my only-"

" _Don't_ cha even say it, Mikey." Raphael cut off.

"If Splinter asks, I'm going to tell him straight." Leonardo confirmed with a wry grin. By his feet the little kitten had begun plodding slowly towards the corner of the room, exploring the new surroundings, a little tan colored nose bobbing curiously in the air, "I mean, you only managed to keep it from us for - what - all of one minute? How long do you think it will take for Master Splinter to work it out?"

Michelangelo groaned. What was the point? May as well nicely ask the Gestapo to take it easy. A quiet mewling turned their attention towards the kitten whom had begun making a show of pawing the ground with teeny needle-like claws. It turned on the spot and soon a puddle began to slurp out onto the concrete.

"Ah - yep. There's a little christening present for ya, now, Mikey. Welcome to the wonderful world of pet ownership. Now ya get ta experience how _we_ feel."

"Hey. What do you think I am - some kind of animal? Some kind of incontinent dweeb? Some kind of – uh, you can stop me at any time here."

The brothers exchanged a skeptical glance. Donatello was the first to break the damning silence.

"Well, there _was_ that time on the rooftops you thought it would be hilarious to urinate off the edge of a building. I believe you referred to yourself as the 'Rainmaker'..."

"Okay – first of all, that was a freak gust a wind, and secondly, I had _no_ say in where you guys were standing. Anyways, I _had_ to go, what did ya want me ta do? Use a public restroom?"

"Don't remind me." Raphael finished with a shirk of disgust, wiping away at an invisible splatter on his arm. Time to delete that memory for good.

"I just - what do ya want? Look at him - I can't put him back on the streets!"

Michelangelo scooped up the kitten in his hands and thrust it towards his brothers like an offering to the gods, waggling each body part as he went:

"See? How's he gonna survive in the big bad world? Look at that itty bitty paw and those itty bitty ears and that itty bitty tail and that itty bitty-

Donatello: "We get it, Mikey."

"D'aww...you love ya uncles, don't ya, little dude? See those big green guys over there? They're family!"

"Quit tryin' ta butter us up."

"And there's Uncle Raph! Don't mind his face, he's just a widdle softy!"

Raphael looked over at the small kitten, barely as big as half his palm. It seemed to know it was being discussed and looked upwards before giving a feeble mewl. His heart tweaked. Just a little. Something only Michelangelo was irritatingly aware of - his well concealed soft spot.

 _Goddammit, goddamit...Mikey...suckerin' me in with this shit._

 _"Ughh... FINE."_ he finally relented _, "_ IF Splinter don't figure it out in the meantime."

"Agreed." Leonardo reiterated with a slight grin, "One week, Mikey. But I doubt it'll last that long."

Donatello merely shrugged, always apt to go along with his brothers unless something truly bothered him. And ratting out a kitten, so to speak, was exceedingly low on the priority list. Instead, he stooped down, curling a finger to scratch the white tuft of fur beneath its chin.

"What are you going to call the little guy?"

Michelangelo glanced around at all of their expectant and bemused faces. It was beyond clear they considered his _non-compos mentis_ , and who was he to deny the truth? At least this would give them a chuckle. He cleared a little nervous tickle in his throat before he answered.

"I was thinking ' _Klunk'_. What do ya think?"

Raphael, recognizing immediately where the name had come from, tipped his head back and laughed.

Donatello head tweaked to the left: "I don't get it."

"Don't ya remember, brainiac? It's what he used ta call that cat in the book he was obsessed with."

"Heh - I almost forgot." Leonardo said, grinning. His posture relaxed, almost undetectably - but Michelangelo, being a keen observer of the most abstract of mood shifts, not only noticed but took it as a sign that all the stars, at least for tonight, were aligned in his favor.

"If I had to guess... I'd say the kitten's about eight weeks old. A fine specimen at that."

Michelangelo balked, "Did you- did you just say 's _pecimen'_? Don't ya even _think_ about dissecting him, D!"

"What! Why the heck would I do that for?"

"Don't change the subject - _I saw what you did to that turtle!"_

"For Pete's sake, how many times do I have to tell you? It was already dead when I found it! And besides," he muttered as an aside, "I thought it might be useful to gain some firsthand insight into the physiology of our terrapin counterparts."

Michelangelo eyes condensed to slits before he pointed an uncertain finger at his brother. It hovered in the air a moment before he punctuated it with a threat of his own:

"I'm _serious_."

Donatello tilted his head in a simple gesture of subservience.

"I promise, I'm not going to hurt your cat." Donatello insisted as he reached down to gently scratch the kitten's fawn belly, "You're a cute little fella, aren't you Klunk?" he cooed.

"It's...it's a boy?"

"Yep. I believe ginger male cats usually are, if I remember correctly."

Raphael prodded the furball with a toe, delicately removing it before the kitten gained retribution.

"Welcome to the sausage fest, kiddo."

Donatello lifted the kittens tail and nodded satisfactorily, "Yep, the little guy's a little guy."

The tabby fuzzball spun around on its tiny paws and sunk it's needle-like teeth into his thumb.

"Yeowch!"

"Awww, good boy, Klunky. You keep that big-brain and his rusty scalpel away from you."

" _Anyway_." Donatello continued, unperturbed, "I think you're going to have your hands full keeping him hidden. Remember, they do get active at night."

Michelangelo eyes lit up like a Ferris wheel, "So you're saying I should get some toys and junk?"

"Sure." Raphael snickered, "Just share the ball of yarn you like ta play with."

" _Dude_ , I told ya a million times - it's called _macrame_. Everyone's doing it."

"Just make sure you clean up after him." Leonardo cautioned, making his way for the door, "And you might want to think about making sure he doesn't get out of your room through any of the wall cracks or holes in here."

The warning was not so much a warning as the granting of time - and Michelangelo took it readily, chirping up at the small permission.

"Ya hear that little buddy?! Ya hanging out with me a little longer!" he pressed the the tabby face of the kitten into his cheek, where it made a small mewl of protest. He looked back up into the faces of his placated brothers, brimming with gratefulness.

" _Thankyou thankyou thankyou_... I sooo owe you guys. Hey, how about I make us some nachos for dinner? Download a flick? Get a little _life on_? I gotta bit extra this month, been flippin' my custom figurines so fast ya can't even make the number plate out. So uh, I can go grab the goods from Chang's, maybe some petfood...y'know?"

Leonardo gave a shrug as he stepped from the room, "I don't know, Mikey, pet food is not really my thing…"

"Not for us, for the - oh… oh, ah _haha_ … _good_ one, dad."

"Sure. You bring the entertainment." Donatello said as he hovered at the doorway, "Or I'll bring my dissection kit..." he chuckled darkly as he exited into the hallway.

"Hardee-har. You should stick to the microscope, dude. Maybe you'll find an actual joke." Michelangelo waited until Donatello's footsteps faded away: "Everyone wants to be the comedian."

Raphael, catching Michelangelo's distaste, snorted in amusement.

"Yeah. Good luck with-" he waved a dismissive hand in front of the kitten, simultaneously shooting a look at the small festering puddle of cat urine, " _that_."

He closed his hand in to a fist, thumping down onto Michelangelo's shoulder. Michelangelo absorbed the shock, but not before his eyes widened.

"Wait up."

" _What_." Not even a question.

"Aren't ya gonna, like, keep us company?"

"'Fraid not, baby bro. I'm headin' topside."

"Oh. Yeah. Okay." He shot a sidelong glance at his bookshelf, his mind quite obviously elsewhere, "Case's?"

"Yep. An' between you and me, we're doin' a little patrollin' downtown. And just ta make it clear this time, when I say _'between you and me'_ I mean-"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't tell Leo." Michelangelo finished glumly, "Was just hoping , maybe, you could tell that story like ya used to. Just so I can remember it. Commit it to memory, y'know…"

He bent down and placed the kitten back onto the floor where it started wandering curiously towards the junk crammed bookshelf.

"Maybe another time, eh Mikey?"

"Yeah, well. Thanks for inviting me."

Raphael started aback, "Thought ya didn't like taggin' along with Case."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I guess I'm just one of those _weirdoes_ that likes ta keep my teeth in my mouth."

Raphael gave a light chuckle, not unaware of the rejection in his brother's otherwise cheery voice. A new idea struck him.

"Tell ya what. Wait here…"

Raphael slunk out of the room and within moments reappeared with a gift. A book. And not any book. The one he had read so long ago, almost as fresh as the day he first read it. He foisted it towards his waiting brother. Michelangelo brightened as he turned it in his hands in disbelief.

" _What?_ Where did you get this? I thought you burnt it along with Donnie's plans to train roaches to remotely survey the underground tunnels!"

"Yeah, well, what I tell ya and what I do aren't always the same."

"Duude, this is awesome!" Michelangelo dropped beside his kitten, ruffling its ginger mane, "See this Klunk? It was my favorite book as a little turtle…"

The kitten merely bit at the spines edge before dropping onto his side in a playful roll.

"Man, I can't believe you kept it all this time!"

"Couldn't part with it. Funny thing is, I couldn't make out a single word when we first got it. An' now look at me- got more books in my room than Sensei. First thing I learned ta read. Guess it's why I still got it." Raphael shrugged as the ghost of nostalgia passed through him. Had it really been that long ago when Michelangelo would come to him asking him to _read_? The thought was laughable in itself. The blind leading the blind.

"Yeah," Michelangelo chuckled, "How could I forget a vampire monkey? Can't believe it helped."

"Guess we kinda helped each other." Raphael said after a time.

Something else quickly caught Michelangelo's keen attention: "Dude - I've been in ya room a million times, I've never seen it in there."

Raphael looked down at his brother who remained teasing his kitten with the edge of his reclaimed book.

"Well. You're not the only one with secrets, Mikey."

Michelangelo rested the gift in his lap. A new trouble weighing in.

"Do ya really think Splinter's gonna have a fit about Klunk?"

Raphael's lips curled upwards: "Yeah. But you'll probably talk yourself outta it like ya normally do."

"It's surprising how often it works."

"What's really surprising is how often ya _think_ it works."

"I'll take it, dude. It's not easy being keen and green. Speaking of which, can ya kick Case in the shell for me? I still owe him for last week."

The permanent darkness on Raphael's briefly flittered into a grin as he stepped towards the door.

"Save some nachos for me, baby bro. I'll be back late."

...


	11. No Time Like the Present

A/N: Apologies for the slight delay. I may be doing some post-posting editing on this one. Comments always welcomed ~ Please enjoy!

* * *

11\. NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT

"Yer WHAT?" Raphael almost screeched the word as he landed a heavy thump on Michelangelo's desk.

"I said: I'm going to meet her."

"Tell me yer kiddin'"

"We've arranged a safe place - for the both of us - and we're going to meet face to face and get to know each other a little better and see where it goes from there, y'know? I guess-"

"Face to _FACE?_ " Raphael's face twisted in rage. He'd believed Michelangelo to be somewhat foolish and often times lackadaisical, but obstinately stupid? "Yer outta your gourd."

"It's gonna be fine."

"Mikey, it's a good thing ya have six fingers, or ya wouldn't be able ta count past five."

"I know what I'm doing, okay? Will you just chill out and trust me for once?"

"When have I ever not trusted you?" Raphael roared back, "All I've ever done is trust you, so how 'bout you _listen ta me_ fer once?"

"I _always_ listen to you, Raph. I'm _sick_ of listening to you."

"Well, good luck. Do what you want. Just don't come cryin' ta me when she runs away screamin'."

.

 _Maybe Raph was right? Maybe she flaked?_

Yeah… maybe. Or maybe she died. Or maybe she split a cab on the way downtown and met Prince Charming. Or maybe the Langoliers had worked their way through her part of the city and were heading on over.

Or even worse – maybe she just flaked. The thought alone made his intestines wince in dread.

Michelangelo sneaked a look around the corner of the feminine care aisle in Chang's and saw nothing but the neon racks of candy stacked against the register counter. Damned if that row of Butterfingers didn't look good enough to solve ninety-nine problems.

 _Quit thinking of food!_

He slunk back and tugged his hoodie forward, twiddling with the cord that pulled it tight. Just as he had hoped, the place was empty, save himself and Li. It took a solid week of recon to deduct a lull in the early evening trading - between Seven and Eight p.m. - when the majority of customers were either just home or just eating. But it was not that he was out alone in Chang's that had him on edge. It was just that this particular set of circumstances were _far_ from usual. Enough for him to completely miss the jingle of the stores door bell.

"Just relax," he whispered to himself, "just take it as it goes and it'll be fine. Be cool. Be cool. Be the leaf… flow in the wind… be the lea-"

A melodic voice, bright as silver, cut short his mantra: "Uh, Mikey? Is that you?"

" _Mm-!_ " His stifled his sentence mid-scream – 5 octaves too high – and swung around

"R-Rider!"

 _BE THE LEAF!_

He cleared his throat and tried again.

"Rider. How are-" Michelangelo lost all thought, his vision suddenly glazed with syrup and ice-cream. In front of him stood the girl he recognized from the snapshot he had obsessed over for the last eight months– curvy and slightly knock-kneed with loose curls hair peeping from beneath her periwinkle blue beanie. "Oh wow, you're so pretty."

For a split second, he was certain he had let any good first impression evaporate, but she merely rolled her eyes and giggled.

" _As if_. And you're, like … well, to be honest, I can't really see much of you under there - but I'd recognize that voice anywhere! It is SO good to hear it in person."

"It is?" he tugged his hoodie down further, reducing the slit to a sliver, "I mean... you too, Rider!"

Dimples deep enough to cradle marbles appeared in her pink cheeks.

"Okay, I kinda have a teensy confession to make. It's _Renet."_ She put forth her hand, "And now my not-so-secret secret is now your secret!"

The very idea snagged and blazed bright in his mind.

"A secret name? You mean, like a secret identity?!" Michelangelo scooped up and shook her hand with both of his. "That's freakin' awesome!"

She peered down.

"Two hands, huh? Ha! I like it! " Renet's other hand joined his in the shakefest in the middle of the store, "So… like, what do you think it even means, anyway, shaking hands? Is it like, waving 'hello' really, really close?"

Michelangelo shrugged; his hidden grin as wide as the ocean.

"I don't know? I don't think I've ever shaken anyone's hand before."

"Really? You like, totally seem like a natural."

"Thanks! Hey – you, too!"

A solid minute passed before she asked -

"Do you think this is getting weird?"

Chang Li bothered to lift his gaze to shoot them both an odd look. They released each other with an embarrassed titter.

"Note to self," he muttered, "Keep it short and sweet."

"Note to self," she repeated, "Mikey has _the best_ intel."

They both laughed before falling back into an awkward silence. Bolstered by a nervous energy, Michelangelo was the first to ease back in.

"Uh… um. So, hey – remember that thing I had ta tell you?" he motioned his head towards the standing freezers at the back of the store, "Well, maybe it would be better if we went and talked back over there a little more?"

"Wait, is this, like, about-" She lowered her voice, genuine concern in her eyes, "your _disguise_?"

Nerves gnawed at his stomach. She caught on fast. Well, either that or she was curious to see if it was worth her time schlepping here to meet him.

"Yeah. My disguise." He sunk his fingers into his neck and scratched, "Well, sort of my disguise."

"We don't-" Renet paused and offered a friendly gesture of her hand, "we don't have to do this unless you're comfortable. I totally get it. We've been talking online and on the phone for _ages_! There's no rush. I mean…" She pinched her forefinger and thumb into a circle and peered through it, "if there _was_ something up about you, I would have seen it by now, right?"

She dropped her fingers and offered an encouraging grin. It was just the push he needed. Enough to know she was willing to take the risk. It was the least he could do to offer the same.

"Yeah. You're right. I wanna do this."

His heart thumped in panic as they made their way in a blaring silence, until at last they wedged themselves between the end of the pet food aisle and the freezers. He waited a beat trying to collect his thoughts, before lowering his voice enough to keep the conversation strictly between the two of them.

"Rider… uh, Renet. I've gotta tell you something," he looked to the far end of the store where Chang Li couldn't be less interested, skirting his gaze back to settle on a dust coated bag of kibble. He released a shaky breath, nervous to the core, and continued:

"Now, don't freak out – but I gotta warn ya that I look kinda different. I mean, I'm the same as everyone else inside, but, uh – my outside is not what most people would consider- well, what _anyone_ would consider normal, probably. But I promise you, I'm just a regular guy that loves regular things. All that stuff we talked about? That's true. That's me. But if you think that's too weird, and you don't wanna know me more… that's totally cool, too. I mean, I'd be super bummed- but… I'd understand." His body seemed to grow heavy with regret, "The whole situation is kinda weird, I guess."

He glanced up to gauge her reaction, and to his utter astonishment, she didn't seem phased in the slightest.

"Want to know something funny, Mikey? I'm normal on the outside but really, REALLY weird on the inside. So… maybe we can both just be weird together?"

He went still:

"Renet, I don't think you're weird. I think you are amazing."

A small huff escaped her as cheeks went from pink to red.

"You are TOO nice - you really _are_ a big weirdo, _ARGH!_ "

To his abject horror, his verbal diarrhea took over:

"Heh. Speaking of weirdos, what did one doughnut say to the other? Weirdo. Get it? _We're dough_. What did the doughnut say back? And nuts." He forced a chuckle followed by a deflated sigh. "I am _so_ sorry about that. My brother says I should take my show on the road- but I don't think he meant it as a compliment."

"Your brother might be right!" she laughed.

Raphael was right about another thing, too. She would run at the mere sight of him. This amazing person, who literally smelt like Christmas, would bolt.

"Yeah." He dropped his head in defeat. "Sometimes he calls them."

"Are… are you okay? Do you, like, get low blood sugar or something? I've got a candy bar in my purse, I mean, it's just half a Butterfinger – I had _the weirdest_ nerves coming over here and had to eat something. Silly, I know."

Michelangelo's jaw unhinged ( _how could she know?_ ), and tongue locked firm, long enough for his silence to inflate and the buzz of fluorescent lights to grow stronger in its place. This would be how she would see him, he realized - under the unforgiving lights of Chang's corner store. Not that it would matter a great deal how bright the damn lights were. Unless it were pitch black. And he could see the how the whole meet up would unravel – he would reveal his face. The End. His biggest goof to date. And then he knew something else – this would not be how it ended between them.

"I'm sorry, Renet. I'm so sorry, b-but I gotta go."

He turned on his heel, clipping a row of ramen noodle packets to the floor, but before he could move further, he felt her catch his elbow.

"Wait!"

His body fell limp. She was touching him. Through layers of nylon and wool, yes, but still- it was the first time a woman had ever really touched him outside of April. Punches notwithstanding.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No!" he insisted, the sound almost muffled to nothing beneath his disguise. "No." he said again, softer.

Satisfied, she released him.

"Well, you can't leave me hanging here like day old sushi!" Her eyes flickered over him, lost, he was certain, at being unable to read his obscured face. "Maybe we could go somewhere more private… if you want to?"

The suggestion left him nodding.

"Th-there's a roof not too far from here, and it has the _best_ view of city. If, uh, if that's not too creepy for you?"

Her face melted into sunshine once more.

"That sounds _totally_ great."

.

They stepped outside into the windy night, piercing the cold in their warm outerwear, as he guided her towards the quiet residential apartment that he had once frequented for sparring sessions. It had been a good six months since he had last been there. Not that he expected it to be one iota different from the previous dozen or so years since he had been going. Except for one remarkable difference. By the time she glanced over at him and lifted her eyebrows in anticipation, he knew he was done for.

"So, where is this place?" she asked brightly, somehow making the cold seem both magical and non-existent.

He shoved his hands further into his pockets, and tipped his head to the left.

"About half a block away. Are you sure you don't mind? It's kinda cold out tonight and it can really get down into ya bones that high up."

"This?" She upturned her palms, "This is nothing. I don't mean to brag but I could, like, probably walk barefoot in the Arctic. Winter baby here."

"You'll need it, 'cause where we're going is high and cold. But it has just about the raddest view this side of Chinatown."

"Ohhhh. Sounds totally _intriguing_ – wait, it's safe, right?"

"With me around? Not a problem."

A drunken group of revelers weaved past them, capped in matching Viking helmets. Renet spun around and began walking backwards, watching them go, before spinning back to walk by his side.

She gave a sheepish giggle, "Sorry - for a second I thought it was maybe someone I knew. Honestly, it'd be the last thing I need right now, no joke. Like, _ugh_ , what does a girl have to do to get a moments peace?"

"You just randomly bump into people you know all the time?" Michelangelo said, brow raised in astonishment, "Wow. You sound _way_ too popular not to be my friend."

Renet's laugh lit the air around him.

"Tell that to my boss. He'd just love it if I was on the clock twenty four-seven! As _if!_ I don't even get _paid_! And like I don't have a _gajillion_ other things I'd rather do."

"Like this, you mean?" Michelangelo said, gesturing to the sidewalk in front of them.

Renet gaze skipped across the clusters of people streaming to and fro, rugged up and in a rush. Her eyes fell straight back to the ground with a knotted frown.

"Trust me. Interning is not all it cracked up to be. It's all dusting and coffee runs and total bullshit."

"Yeah. I get ya. Training can be a real pain in the sh- uh, butt."

"Tell me about it." Renet agreed with a roll of her eyes, "Wouldn't it be nice to just, like, escape to some warm beach somewhere and do absolutely _nothing_?"

A loud ripping roar of a motorcycle cut into their conversation from the block back by Chang's. Michelangelo knew the sound anywhere. The awful afternoon came rushing back...

"Mikey? Hello? You drifted off there a second."

"Oh crap."

"What is it?"

"Raph." he said between gritted teeth, "I can't believe it. C'mon."

They picked up pace and turned down the alleyway, Renet squeezing out:

"Who?"

"My brother." he said between gritted teeth. He guided them to the rear alcove of a closed restaurant and stopped, "I'm so sorry about this, but do ya mind waiting here a sec with me 'til he bounces?"

Renet paused a second, then gave a slow nod.

"Sure."

They remained motionless, ears pricked. The motorbike idled from the entrance of the alley, its lights slicing into the dark. For a very brief moment Michelangelo was certain he was going to turn down and find them, effectively screwing up things more than he had already.

Renet placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Should we be scared?" she whispered.

"He's marshmallow, really." Michelangelo said quiet as a shadow, his eyes not moving from the direction of the bike, "Yep. A marshmallow someone's left over the campfire too long."

"We're not in trouble, are we?"

"No. No way. He's just got it in his head that I can't look for out for myself."

At long last the motorbike revved up and gunned it, the high pitched whine floating away. Raphael had left.

Michelangelo released a heavy breath, "I am _so_ sorry, Renet. That was embarrassing."

"Are you joking? That was _awesome_! This is best time I've had in like, a long, _long_ time."

"And I thought I never got out."

"I'm serious. Let's get to that roof."

He gave an obedient salute: "Yes, ma'am."

They turned back into the alley and trotted to the base of the tenement fire escape. He glanced over at her.

"You sure you still wanna do this? It's kinda scary for the first-timers."

C'mon." Renet urged him on with a gentle shove, "We gotta beat the rain!" She gazed up, shielding her eyes from a security light mounted on the side of the building to the ladder that was still rigged up a story off the ground. "So… how are we going to do this, exactly?"

Well. He didn't learn ninjutsu for over fifteen years to not be able to show off.

"Hey. I got you, girl."

From his inner side pocket, Michelangelo pulled out his _kusari-gama_ , whirling it by his side before flicking it up and catching the lower rung. Renet stepped back, a little taken aback by the weapon.

"Here we go-" One tug had the ladder careening down. He caught it as it neared the ground, slowing its speed to near silence. Always the ninja. "Need a boost?"

By the time she offered her gloved hand, Michelangelo had lifted her up and catapulted her up halfway up the ladder.

She gasped until she caught a rung and clasped tight, checking her footing.

"Whoa, you really _are_ strong." she said giddily, her boots clanging on the rungs as she ascended upwards towards the second story. "Like, I know you've told me you're being home-schooled in martial arts, but that was _so_ cool!"

"You should see my brother." he joked, "He likes to press bench cars for fun."

Renet glanced back down over her shoulder, "You should tell him they have those jack things nowadays. _So_ much easier."

Michelangelo snorted, "I'll tell you one thing, he really digs it when I point out the obvious."

They hopped atop the fire escapes first story platform and peered up through the steel grating to all the levels above. Another nine flights of stairs remained above them.

 _Yap yap yap yap yap yap yap!_

A Chihuahua had come to life behind the nearby window. They froze. One too curious a resident and they would be caught on the spot. Tonight was their lucky night, as a woman's muffled shout silenced the night once again. Renet's arms fell limply by her sides.

"That was _so_ close." she whispered, holding back a chuckle.

"A little _too_ so close."

Her gaze shot upwards.

"I wish the _roof_ was close. Lucky I had an energy drink last week, or I'd literally die from exhaustion."

He tossed out a muted laugh. He didn't know if she knew it, but she was really funny. A new idea struck him, it dithered in his mind only a moment, unsure if she would go for it.

"Hey, I gotta better idea." He stepped towards her and lifted his arms wide open, "Grab on and hold tight."

It took only a moment for Renet to register. Two steps closer and she had clasped her arms around his neck.

"Like th-"

She didn't even finish get to finish the question when Michelangelo jumped atop the railing and started bounding between the steel platforms. Within seconds he had neared the top, Renet holding him in a death grip, until his feet patted the rooftop.

"Okay, we're here."

Renet opened her eyes to the city that ribboned the horizon in a smattering of light.

"Mikey, this is _AMAZING!_ Oh my God, I can, like, see water between those two buildings over there! Holy moly!" She turned on the spot then peered over the buildings edge, "Wow. You're quick, too, huh?"

"That's me." He said with an odd sense of pride. Then gave a brief frown. Yeah. Being quick wasn't always a good thing. "Er... quick."

Renet laced her fingers and dropped her head.

"That was a compliment." she assured him. "I know tonight has been kinda strange... but I'm having a good time."

"R-really?" Michelangelo stuttered, until twenty seconds ago, he was sure she probably never wanted to see him again, "Are you... _sure_?"

"Sure I'm sure. You're right about the cold, though. _Brrr_. But it was worth it - this place is _unreal_." Her gaze wandered across the murky roof top and straight up to the dark and cloudy sky above. "Can you feel all the static in the air?"

Yes, he certainly could. Michelangelo followed her line of sight to where flashes of blue light popped in the clouds. It was beautiful. Vibrant. Alive. He had never felt it more.

"I didn't think you were even gonna make it to Chang's tonight." he confessed.

A troubled look crossed her face.

"I didn't think I'd be able to stop you from leaving. If I pushed you too much, Mikey, I'm sorry. Maybe we could just hang out more? No pressure."

"A-and do what?"

"Well," she drawled out the word as she swept her gaze towards the small peephole to his face, "do you promise not to make fun?"

He nodded, crossed his heart, then kissed his finger.

"Promise."

Renet pressed her cold hands against her cheeks, well aware she was blushing. She dropped them and gripped the railing edge instead.

"Okay, this is SO embarrassing. But I'm telling you this so we're even in the shame game. Okay." She gestured towards her ample bosom as her face warped: "I know I don't exactly look like it, but I'm like, a _huge_ dinosaur nerd. I mean, I guess it's kinda obvious with the amount I ramble on about those Dinosuit comics."

He tried to hold back a squeal of excitement.

"You? Get outta here!"

"It's totally true! I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I've _always_ had a thing for reptiles."

Michelangelo choked back a cough as Renet continued unabashed:

"Wow. I feel _so much_ better getting that out. It's literally _social suicide_ to say things like that! But I've always had a feeling about you, Mikey, it's like you _get_ me."

"It is my dream _come true_ ," Michelangelo said earnestly, "to meet someone who can quote Trunaki when he takes off the Dinopresident suit. Dream. Come. True."

Renet thumped her chest and pitched her voice lower.

"These idiots would vote for a meteor if it promised to lower their taxes!"

They both laughed, genuine and full of joy. The laughter petered out. Renet swung her foot by the building ledge.

"So, anyway," she said softly, "NYCC might be a _great_ place to go incognito. I even heard the creators of Dinosuits were going to be there this year. How cool would that be?"

The wheels in Michelangelo's head churned as he vowed to do exactly that. He didn't know how just yet, but he would do anything. Wear anything. Fake anything. To make it there with her. His heart pinched inside his rib cage as he asked what had been on his mind since the moment he saw her.

"Can I ask you something?"

She shrugged, "Sure."

"Why me? Why did you choose to talk to _me_? Don't take this the wrong way, but wow – you'd just have to _look_ at someone they'd be like: Hey, Team Renet, all the way. My avatar is a picture of my _cat_. And you know what they say about that. I mean, I love the little guy, but –"

The point remained unspoken. Renet practically squirmed on the spot.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yeah. Sure. I mean, I think I do?"

She sucked her bottom lip before relenting: "It's was… what you wrote in your profile description."

Description? Michelangelo wracked his brain. His voice strained curiously.

"That my dream body swap would be with Godzilla?"

She clapped a hand across her forehead.

"Did I say profile? _Ugh_ , sorry, I meant signature. Although… the Godzilla thing is totally my area code."

"Oh, signature! _That_." he said with a grin as the quote dawned on him, "I got it from a fortune cookie. Thought is sounded neat. And funny. Kinda like me, if I do say so myself: _Today is a gift_ -"

" _That's why they call it the present_." she finished with a beaming grin. "That's the one. I believe it, you know. I had it drilled into me since I, like, can remember. Today is a _total_ gift."

"I feel kinda stupid saying it was from a fortune cookie, now."

"Not stupid. Fate."

Her eyes latched to the shadow that obscured his face. Fate. This was something special. All he wanted to do was rip of his hoodie and feel it on his skin. Renet bumped gently into his side.

"So, are you going to tell me why you tried to run away? Was it the garlic pizza I had for lunch?"

"No. Renet, you're-" he dropped his head, "so awesome." he finished off deflatedly. "I guess I was thinking that maybe it would be better if we don't…"

"Don't what?"

"Mess it up." he said flatly.

"That's it?"

Renet stepped beside him by the brick parapet, and yanked off her beanie. Silver-blonde hair streamed around her serene face as she peered the ten stories down to the road below. The traffic crawled along in silence, beams cutting through the chilly evening. At last she continued:

"Do I know all about mistakes. I live with them all the time. Because sometimes, no matter what you do, you can't change them. Even when you try. Even when you do everything in your power. So they just play over and over in your head until they make you go either _completely crazy_ or _completely numb_." She gave a strange giggle caught between sadness and joy. "And then there are the mistakes that you wouldn't change for anything. This is _definitely_ one of those."

"I gotta warn you, Renet. Under here-" he pointed to himself "Not normal. Off-the-books, not normal."

She brought her gloves to her mouth and breathed warm air into them.

"It's okay you know. Before I started interning I spent a whole lot of time volunteering with people that are very _different_ on the outside. My dad thought it would be good for me and I thought it was going to be so lame – but he was right. I learned so, so much. But mainly I learned that if you really want to know someone, you let them show you who they are." she turned to him and placed her glove atop his, "You've already showed me who you are, Mikey. You really don't have to stress out."

"Really?"

"Trust." she said, her grin widening, "It takes a lot more than green skin to get me all milkshaked."

His stomach dropped and rolled as it tried to put out the fire of panic.

"Y-you know I have green skin?"

"Sure!" Renet leaned over and tugged the cord of his hoodie, "I mean. I'm not totally blind. I can see the teensiest bit of your face under there."

She glanced down at their mittens, "Hey, wanna know something else funny? Blue and orange are totally complementary colors!"

"They are?" Michelangelo he said, scrunching the orange glove April had knitted for him, for a second unsure if he should ask the question: "Uh… what does that mean, again?"

She flashed her even white teeth.

"It means they go great together."

"Oh. Really?"

"Yep."

Michelangelo took a deep breath. Even Renet heard it.

"So… you won't freak out?"

Renet waited only a moment before crossing her heart and kissing her finger. She finished it with a wink.

"Okay…" he breathed, inflicted with the slightest tremor.

His hands rested on the rim of his hoodie, hesitating only briefly, before flipping it back off his face. Her face fell still. Her mouth a straight line. Michelangelo gave the weakest attempt of a smile:

"Surprise…"

A brilliant tree of lightening streaked across the sky. A crash of thunder rumbled in the distance like war drums. _Perfect timing_ , he thought glumly. He gulped and waited, hands wringing inside his gloves. To his alarm she began swaying. He darted out and caught her by the elbow as she began plummeting to the ground.

"Whoa, there. I gotcha... I gotcha."

He eased her onto the cement and crouched beside her. Well, at least it wasn't a completely unexpected or unknown reaction.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." she mumbled to the ground , clutching her stomach hard enough to crease her coat into waves. Michelangelo's brow furrowed. He had actually made her physically ill. This was all going on an express route to hell in a hand basket.

"Are you okay?" he said gently, "Do you need something? Some water or-"

Renet shook her head.

 _"Sugar."_

She plunged into her handbag and pulled out a mauled bar of candy, peeling back the wrapping to take a generous bite. Her posture eased as she made light work of the mouthful. She glanced back at him and lifted the remainder by his lips.

"M-me?"

She chewed, gulped and nodded.

Michelangelo lowered his head and cracked off a chunk with his teeth. It had been months since he had eaten real candy, having been living on hot cocoa alone until his funds matched his appetite. It was sweeter than he remembered. Sweet enough to ebb away the strange migraine that had began to manifest at the back of his head.

"Mmm, g-" he stopped short as a peanut fragment caught in his throat. The coughing fit began. Followed seconds later by the first icy specks of rain.

"Mikey!"

Alarmed, Renet rocked to her feet and slapped his back, pausing only to marvel the strange hard dome beneath his jacket.

"Oh no! Is that working? Oh, please don't choke, I'll never live it down!"

"I'm cool,*COUGH COUGH* I'm the _leaf_ , *COUGH*, _oh man_."

His spluttering died out until at last they stood, eyes locked in silence. Thunder crackled in the distance as the rain began to fall. Her eyes went huge, sparkling like diamonds. Michelangelo's breath caught in his chest. She could see him now. There was no doubting it. At first he thought she were crying, but his brain quickly corrected it to fear – it had to be, right?

"Wow." she whispered beneath her breath, "It never gets old."

"Huh?"

Renet's smile perked up once more, crinkling the outer corners of her eyes.

"Hi, Mikey. It's so nice to finally meet you. It felt like an _eternity_."

.


	12. Kangaroo

12\. KANGAROO

"I got it...I got it..." Mondo murmured to himself.

He rolled along, wheels clacking on the pavement seams, as he swung his scrawny leg out and thrust himself towards the stair rail.

He'd been working up the nerve to make this jump all week. Straight from the bowels of Hunt's Point to do business before he jumped the train back to his part of town. And with a few extra bucks on him it might make the night more comfortable. So he was here instead. Just a light skate in an old haunt waiting for his friend to come down and buy his weed. Chris _tofer_. He'd been a real pain in the ass about saying his whole name, like it would give him a new identity or something. Apparently he got _that_ idea on acid. But Chris _tofer_ was exactly the same ol' junkie as Chris. Just wrapped up in a more fucked up package. Once upon a time they had shared some laughs, but now he always had that look in his eyes whenever he turned up to sell. Like a vampire staring at newborn. Not that he sold the serious shit, not even to Chris _tofer_. The Dragons would slash his throat quicker than he could count to five if they caught him with it in their part of town. But weed was safe. You could get it anywhere, really. Plus he didn't touch the hard stuff. He'd seen what it done to people he thought he knew. And he was scared to even look at it too long lest it found its way in him. Then it'd be game over, Player One. He'd lived it through his mama, back when they still had a place in the city, back when she was still alive. Well. Back when she was more alive than the husk she was today. No way, man. Just the weed. Just the weed for him.

Mondo glanced discreetly back over to the marked dumpster where he'd clipped his stash. He'd learned the hard way never make it obvious where you hid your goods. Keep staring at a certain spot for no reason and someone's going to notice. Keep it on you and someone would roll you for it. Or worse, the cops would frisk you for it and slap a charge on top. The city had eyes, man. Just assume every window had a pair and you'd only be half-way paranoid enough.

 _Gotta pick up speed!_

His hi-top kicks struck the ground again, and this time he practically shoved the Earth itself away. The flight led to a lower section of the alley. Just thirteen cement steps. His lucky number. The wheels whirred on the ground. Using the momentum, he hiked up. Board connected smooth metal.

 _I got it!_

It was almost perfect until he lost balance two-thirds of the way down, tumbling to the base of the stairs, grazing reams along his right shin and scalping his right elbow. Eventually he stopped moving.

"Ahh, _FUCK_!"

He winced and rolled onto his back, blood trickling everywhere, gripping his t-shirt as if to hold the pain from bursting out. Finally he worked the nerve to look at his hand. Thin trails of gravelly blood seeped from gashes ripped into the heels of his palms.

"Goddammit."

He wiped them down his pants. Thank god he was the only one down here, he didn't think his pride could take the injury. Or so he thought. A chortle rose up from the gutter drain ten feet to the right of him, where the alley turned and dropped off to a blind end. His face curled in disgust.

"Who the fuck is there?"

"Ah...no-one."

"You gotta problem?"

He heard a sigh.

"Ya planted pretty good, dude. Didn't mean ta laugh, but ya gotta admit, it was unreal."

"Whatever, man." He glanced back his palms, still stinging like mad and splattering bright red droplets across the ground.

There was nothing but silence in return. Maybe the guy had fucked off. What kind of pervey shit stain sat in the drains watching the people skate down here? He's was probably beating off to him now, all bloodied and everything. The voice interrupted his thoughts-

"Ya broke anything?"

Maybe it was the genuine concern that Mondo found himself answering.

"Nah."

"Relax, dude. Was just here checking out some new skate moves. Thought you were gonna make that grind, woulda been _sweet_."

Mondo spat out a phlegmy wad of sour blood to his side and hoisted himself up.

"Still learnin', dawg." He flipped up his skateboard into his hands, "Anyway, what are you meant ta be? The clown from that movie or some shit? "

"Fellow skater, dude. You gotta go easy on ya balance, you're leaning back too much about halfway down. But, as my bro says, we have ta fall before we learn ta walk. And, dude, he was right: did ya see Shaun Brackle mess up last week at WCS? He couldn't even stick the landing…" he chuckled, the sound coming up warmly from the sewer depths, "Not ta mention to the _board._ "

Mondo snorted in amusement. Brackle was an overpaid douche that had a hurt or two coming.

"Fuck, wish I hadda. Lemme guess. He's down there with ya."

"We all float down here. Makes the ollies a breeze."

"Ya know," He cast a gaze around the empty alley, "You wanna skate so bad, helps to be up on the street."

There was a brief pause.

"I kinda look different." the voice eventually said, "From an accident."

"Shit, man. It can't be that bad. Ya seen the freaks 'round here?"

"Trust me, bro. They got nothing on me."

"What, you some kinda bogey monster?" Mondo laughed, flashing a crowded mouth of white teeth. Realizing he was the only one laughing, he let it die out. He scratched at the dark curls by his temple.

"Listen, it don't take no genius ta know that if ya sittin' in a sewer, you probably don't have somewhere better ta be."

"I have a home." The voice echoed from the darkness.

"Yeah." Mondo scoffed skeptically and tilted his head to the building beside him, "So do I. Anywhere, NYC."

"Really. It's here. I live here."

Mondo let out a small snigger of disbelief.

"So do a lotta folks. Ya a little close to the surface, ain't cha?"

"Dude. I'm not a mole person. I mean, they're around, but don't live where we do."

"We?"

"My family."

Mondo was genuinely taken aback.

"The whole crew, huh? Tough breaks, man." he dropped his head down lower, trying to see into the murkiness, "You ah… you wanna buy somethin'? I got a little. Take the edge off, y'know?"

"I'm good, dude."

Mondo threw his bloodied hands up, "Forget I said anything."

"I got it good down here. Really. My friend - her apartment, is like, _ant_ -sized. I dunno how people can _move_ in them."

"You ain't never lived in an apartment before? Ya jokin', right?"

"I've stayed in one for a little while before when things got a little rough. But that's it. I prefer it here."

Mondo gave a skeptical snort, wiping his seeping hands onto his pants as the blood finally began to congeal.

"Yeah, right. An' I'm gonna get Dr HugeTits ta gimme a sponge-bath before my limo ta comes 'n takes me to the Grammy's."

The stranger gave a loud cackle.

"It's Mikey, by the way."

Mondo stooped to peer into the darkness, only seeing the murky outline of a figure.

"Mondo."

He bent his elbow in to look closely at the damage. The bleeding had stopped but the wounds throbbed like a motherfucker.

"All I need." he muttered to himself.

The stranger slipped up a small pack through the grate: "Here - it's not much."

For a quick moment Mondo froze, wondering if he'd been sucked into some kind of police trap or punk. Finally:

"What's this?"

"Med supplies."

Mondo's mouth crumpled inwards as he scooped down and picked up the small pack and unclipped the latch. Inside was a small arsenal of medical equipment - antiseptic wipes, band-aids, ampoules of antibiotics. A strange thing for anyone to be carrying.

"Fuck, I though you were handin' me some oxys. Nah man, I ain't takin' somethin' that's gonna ask for returns plus interest."

"Take it, dude. From one skater to another, I know how bad ya elbow is hurting about now."

"Yeah." Mondo muttered under his breath, "I bet 'cha do." He hesitated before adding: "There's a crew of us that skate at Pier 62 after eight on Thursdays. You got some moves ta show, you bring 'em down there. Ask for Gecko, an' you'll get no trouble."

There was a surprise in the reply.

"So… are you Gecko?"

"Nah, man." He dropped the board and got in position before kicking off, yelling behind him, "That's just what my friends call me."

...

It only took a moment, maybe two, for Michelangelo to emerge from the manhole undetected and hit the sidewalk like he had never left it. A quick glance around assured him he was in the right place - a district a victim of neglect and overcrowding, fittingly bridged over by tracks that rattled anytime the train whizzed overhead. He innocently dusted off his jacket before taking off towards the apartment building. As he approached, he paused to scope out the place further - Dali inspired graffiti sprawled up the windowless wall of the apartment block. Stubborn tufts of yellow grass sprouted from every crack on the sidewalk. But despite every inclination to get back underground, he walked to the intercom and pressed down on the "B" key, giddy with excitement. After all, he had learned a long time ago that a place was only as good as the company.

Just as the whine of the intercom came to life, the roar of the subway drowned it out.

"Hello?" Michelangelo said again.

"—in!" came the crackled reply.

He leaned in closer.

"Uh, say again?"

"I gotta come up to let you in! The button is busted. Like, sorry!"

"Oh! Okay. I'll be here."

He settled back into the shadowy stoop, watching as the traffic blurred by on the road. Nerves began to flay at his insides. He and Renet had met casually and platonically a few times now, but he had never actually been to her place. What was beyond the wall, so to speak, could be anything. He drew air deep into his lungs, latently realizing he was almost as heavily disguised as the first time he met her. Almost. He heard faint footsteps near building's entrance and pressed himself further into the shadow.

The barred entrance croaked open. Tanned fingers tipped with silver polish yanked at his wrist. Michelangelo swiveled to greet Renet's urgency wrought face.

"Come in, quickly!"

Michelangelo let her pull him along as he stumbled behind her.

"Ren! What's the rush?"

"I thought I heard someone on the stairs!"

And with that and two, three, four bounds later, they arrived at her unassuming front door. She lifted the key fastened around her neck, and a click of the lock later, they were in.

.

From the second he walked into her abode, the time had dissolved mysteriously around him, measured all quite rigidly by the ever present ticking-tocking of an ornate grandfather clock.

 _Tick tick tick..._

"Family heirloom." she said, in what almost sounded like an apology. She took his outer jacket and hung it on the crammed hat-stand by her apartment door. Michelangelo glanced around the room, practically freezing in his tracks.

"Wow."

Renet's place was a marvel, deceptively tiny, yet packed with an amount of knick-knacks that bordered on hoarding – except for the fact that everything was neatly arranged, well documented, and dusted every day. From her stack high collection of bottled sand, to the knee-high collection of 'Dinosuit' comics, there seemed a strange harmony to every object in the room.

There was only one word he had repeated for the next two minutes: _Wow_

He wandered around, jaw agape until at last his attention fell back to her. Tonight she was illuminated by a pale blue dress dotted with tiny, _working_ , LED lights. Silver-blonder hair fell across her naked shoulders. Her demeanor radiated innocence and corruption all at once. He couldn't quite explain how she did it, but he was at a complete loss for words. Except one. It slipped out one more time under his breath.

"Wow."

She turned toward him-

"What's that?"

"Uh... everything." he amended quickly, "Everything is… amazing." He ran his hand innocently along the fringe of a lamp, "So, um… you don't have to answer if you don't want to - but, is all this stuff why you didn't want me to visit? Before today?"

She shrugged, suddenly looking a little nervous.

"I mean, partly, I guess. I don't invite people here, like, _ever_. Kinda breaks the illusion."

Michelangelo placed a diamond shaped salt shaker down, and peered up: "Illusion?"

Her pupils swung in towards her nose.

"That I'm a ditz, duh!"

"That's an illusion ? _OW!_ " he rubbed his slapped bicep, barely managing to disguise his smirk.

"It helps at work. Trust."

Wisely, he decided not to press the issue. Renet had been vague about her job, aside from feeding him the occasional crumb about repairing broken luxury watches. Cartier. Rolex. Which was funny considering she only wore her ten-buck digital watch at any given time. But secrecy ran in both their lives, it seemed. See and Saw.

"Speaking of illusions, ya not too worried I'm gonna break some of your stuff with my big fat shell?"

Renet picked up a glass vase and studied it closely: "Let me think-"

She let it drop.

Before it hit the floor, Michelangelo caught it with the top of his foot and flicked it back into his white-knuckled grip. He let out a nervous little chuckle, placing it gently down.

"Seems like you know more than you let on."

Her dazzling grin lit the room.

"It's _totally_ my in-game multiplier."

"Hah. Personally, mine's eating. I can't tell you how many times I wished the moon really did hit my eye like a big pizza pie."

"Sounds like a strange way to eat a pizza."

She circled around a lamp table positioned in the center of the room – where an aquamarine crystal towered dust-free – before coming to a halt directly in front of him.

"Can I ask _you_ something?" she said hesitantly.

He shrugged.

"Sure."

"Is... this officially a _date_ date?"

After fighting back the terrifying curdle in his gut, he blinked then played his strongest suit: blunt honesty.

"I... I hope so."

"Okay, _phew_." she nodded vigorously, "Like, _thank goodness_. I wasn't sure."

"Me neither!" he interjected, "But-"

"It felt right - right?"

"Yeah." he finished softly, "It really did."

Warmth bloomed inside him. The evening had taken a wonderful turn.

"Can I ask you something else?" she said, breaking his happy reverie.

"Yeah. Absolutely."

"Your family doesn't know you're here."

It wasn't exactly a question, but he could read between the lines.

"I haven't brought us up since Raph flipped his lid. There's no way I'm letting him ruin our time again." On seeing her face, he added, "I'm sorry. Is that weird?"

"No, I get it. I do. But, it'd be like, practically impossible to ruin our time."

The warmth now spread to a blush. He cleared his throat and continued:

"I'd love you to meet the fam. Y'know, without having to dodge anyone."

Her eyes lit up: "I love that! Meeting people is, like, my second favorite thing."

Michelangelo dared not ask what the first was.

"I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but me too. I mean, meeting new people used to be rare for me... but it's turning out pretty awesome."

He dare not reveal what his favorite thing was, either. And tried not to reveal it by staring.

"The skaters, you mean?" she said, "You've been _way_ excited about it and you haven't told me _anything_ yet! How was it?"

"Great!" he said, cheerfully, "Awesome, actually. I'm kinda getting ta know a few regulars now, thanks to Gecko warning them about my 'rare genetic condition' - which is great, 'cause they don't freak out too much. Well, not until I land a Lion flip, then, damn, they lose their shi- minds."

"That's great." Renet beamed back at him, "I mean, really, _really_ great."

"Yeah, right? A month ago I was on a first name basis with only, like, two people, and now? I have friends and…"

 _You._

He pressed his smile inward and did the unthinkable - kept quiet. He breathed out slowly: _A little too soon_. Instead, he plucked up a board game from the top of a pile stacked by his feet.

"and… this game if ya wanna play?"

Confused, her face puckered, "Hungry, hungry hippos?"

"Uh, yeah okay. Maybe…" He swapped it out for the next in the pile, "Maybe this one?"

Renet's easy-going gaze went razor sharp: "I'm _totally_ okay with 'Trivial Pursuit'."

.

Two hours later and only the odd corn chip and empty plate sat among the abandoned board game, making way instead for their sprawling conversation. Michelangelo picked at the plastic pie as he tried to dislodge the pieces rammed in upside down and wrong way around. Realizing his fingers were not up to the task, he tossed aside and continued with his story:

"- and so I told him: take it from eleven to ten and then we can talk bargaining."

Renet's bright peal of laughter rang in the room. Peering up, his insides glowed as he mentally racked up the amount of times he had made her laugh. So far he was in the double digits.

"Wait…" she said at last, "and they went for it?!"

"You bet. So – ta da! I bargained the night off. And as agreed, the poetry page is officially offline. Well," he tapped the side of what amounted to his nose, "only the site they know about. But, don't worry, I wasn't hatched yesterday – I know I couldn't have gotten away with that with Donnie, so as far as he knows, there is no poetry about him. Which is a shame, 'cause ' _Masochitello_ ' has gotta be one for the ages."

She dropped her head and appraised him closely.

"I still can't tell if you're, like, totally terrible or incredibly sweet."

Michelangelo returned a toothy grin, striking the right chord between innocent and definitely-not-innocent.

"I like to think: Terribly sweet."

Renet made a noise that could have been either a scoff or a chuckle and downed the last of her diet coke. She placed the glass back on the floor and poked at the lemon wedge with her straw.

"I'm sorry if I stressed you out at the door earlier. I guess the whole Raph thing got me worried."

Michelangelo's attention perked up. He knew from the endless amounts of teasing that his brothers were always concerned about his behavior… but Renet? It was the absolute last impression he wanted to leave her.

"I made you worried?" he echoed softly.

Renet gave a small but resigned shrug.

"I must be a little protective of you. Considering… things."

"Are you sure you're not one of my brothers?"

"Gosh, I _hope_ not." she snickered, poking the lemon wedge extra hard for good measure.

"Hey. There's no need to worry about me. I have over twenty years in training on the books." he said, tapping his chest, "Raph sometimes forgets when he's out steamrolling parades."

"I guess." she reiterated, "But I would literally die if something happened to someone I cared about."

Michelangelo inhaled a sharp breath, not unaware of what she was really trying to say:

"I care about you, too, Ren." There it was, something he had wanted tell her since night on the rooftop. "And I'm having a really, _really_ , good time tonight. You… and your place. It's rad."

Renet rolled her eyes, "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"I mean it!" he said, "Those clocks over there that show the time all over the world? Ingenious! And those glass bottles you keep next to the window? Best home-made security system I've ever seen. Donnie would seriously lose it 'cause he didn't think of it first."

"Sure," she drawled, "But you could, like, probably ninja right by. I totally didn't factor in ninjas."

An easy grin spread across his face: "Heads up - a pepperoni pizza in a giant mousetrap will get me nine times outta ten."

She laughed again and began toying with the small battery pack that connected to her dress. After hours of food and board games and conversation, the elephant in the room only seemed to grow bigger. And hotter. Definitely… definitely hotter. Michelangelo unzipped his hoodie and stripped down to his t-shirt.

"Hey," he said, trying to fill in the gaps that seemed to expand as the night grew later, "Do ah... the lights on your dress change color at all?"

"Oh? I think so? Let me check."

She began to twist the minute knob, the lights phasing from blue to green to orange. She left it there and glanced back at him with an 'okay' symbol of her fingers.

"Yep." he said, "Looks good."

"I spent, like, a whole _day_ sewing these things into the fabric. I just thought it would look _neat_."

"You sewed that?! Ren, that's _amazing_."

She gave a dismissive flick of her hand as her face turned crimson.

"Seriously. You're amazing." he said again.

Renet dropped her head and breathed in deeply.

"This is really fun." she said softly.

He drummed his fingers on the floor, for once not knowing what else to say. The slightly panicked look on her face let him know he wasn't the only one.

"Did you want a drink or…" she said hopefully

"No, I'm good."

"More pizza?"

"Nah, thanks." He patted his stomach, "Hit the limit."

She almost looked disappointed.

"Oh… okay."

Worried that he offended her, he quickly added:

"What about you? I can, uh, run down and get some dessert or something. I feel kinda stupid for not bringing anything."

"Don't _even_! I meant it when I said not to bring anything. Besides, there's totally some candy stashed here… somewhere." A troubled look crossed her: "Unless… did _you_ want something?"

He held his palms up: "No, no, no. Not at all I just thought that-"

They both froze before erupting into shame-faced laughter. Michelangelo finished off with a stress popping sigh.

"I guess I'm kinda out of my element, here."

Renet gave a soft smile, a smile he hadn't yet seen: "We're really bad at this, aren't we?"

"I don't get it." he agreed readily, "I'm so nervous I couldn't eat all day. Leo legit thought I was dying. I don't know how you do it."

She balked.

"You think I'm, like, calm right now? Inviting someone to your home is like, super personal and crazy stressful. Especially if…" she dropped her head and clucked her tongue.

"If you care what the other person thinks of you?" he ventured.

The whole of her body seem to relax. Even the lights on her dress twinkled placidly around her.

"Yeah."

Michelangelo placed his hand gently on hers: "Us types have gotta stick together, right?"

Renet fell still.

"Yeah," she said at last, "Stick together."

"So, uh." he stammered, "H-how should we do that, exactly?"

Her fingers reached out to touch his cheek, warm and welcome. Trembling, he held them in place. Because there was no hit that he could not dodge. Until now.

"Like this..." she whispered.

Slowly, achingly, her lips brushed against his. A rush unlike any other swarmed his senses. He could taste the cola on her mouth, smell the cinnamon on her neck, hear her breath catch in wonder, feel his heart all but pound through his chest. A perfect moment he would cling to forever.

 _Tick tick tick…_

She pulled back, her glittering eyes curious and hopeful. Somehow, the words formed on his tongue:

"I wanted you to do that all night."

She gave a quiet titter, and with a little tip of her neck, found him again. The kiss was divine. More urgent. Less restrained. With harmony that could not be sweeter. And all the irrelevant bullshit that fluttered about his brain knew no more, and everything his body knew how to do so instinctively, took over.

.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this one took so long to get out. I didn't spend 4 months writing this, I spent 4 months _not_ writing this. I think I spent 4 months not writing a lot of things. The next one isn't too far behind.


	13. Flashbacks

13\. FLASHBACKS

He knew it was wrong. Maybe that's what made it so easy. Boredom in the Lair was amplified by the monotony.

 _"_ _Shut-up Mikey and get back behind me!"_ _  
_

Raphael felt his brother huddle back on the tunnel wall, then moments later, could hear his hands gripping then relaxing on his _nunchaku_.

It was a small trek to reach this junction, and keeping back far enough so that Splinter would not detect them, almost impossible. Daylight had found a way to seep into the chamber, casting it into a murky hall of grey, enough so that from their distance they could view Splinter as he approached a human. A large human. A large _male_ human. Raphael frowned as he heard his younger brother's breathing come to a halt, only to return a good ten seconds later, double time.

"Take it easy, bro. Deep breaths."

Maybe this was not one of their brightest ideas, he thought to himself. Sure, tailing Splinter out of the Lair – despite his multiple warnings against it – might have seemed like a bit of fun, but at this point he was certain Michelangelo was on the verge of inhaling enough air to float out the nearest manhole.

"Who is that?"Michelangelo whispered, his stare not breaking from the stranger looming in the tunnels.

Raphael gave a nonchalant shrug as he could muster.

"Sensei seems cool with 'em."

"Do you think they know we're here?"

"Relax. No-one knows we're here."

There was a quick exchange of words between Splinter and the stranger, both inaudible but guarded. Raphael strained but to hear them and was surprised at how different their master sounded when talking to… another adult, he supposed. His tone seemed less stern. More conversational. But Michelangelo was not fully appeased.

"I dunno…" Michelangelo whispered, hesitation ribboning through his voice.

Raphael rolled back along the curve of the tunnel and reached down to smack his brother on the shoulder.

"I'm right here, so quit bein' a pussy."

"I'm not being a-" Michelangelo slumped.

Recognizing he might have pushed it too far, Raphael twinged with guilt.

"Look Mikey, I know ya might be a little scared. But I'm here, okay? Nothin's gonna happen to ya. "

Michelangelo nodded but the knot of terror in his stomach would not give out. There was something about the tunnels - the smell… the human - that made his feet clammy with the urge to flee. He glanced up at Raphael, whom appeared a little wary, maybe, but definitely not afraid. He took in a deep breath and craned forward to look past Raphael's scutes and gain a better look at the stranger that stood over thirty feet away - an ample man with russet-colored skin, tattered kaftan, and dreaded, graying hair that peeked beneath his multicolored _taqiyah_. There was else, too. Something peculiar in the way he moved. Something he couldn't quite place his finger on.

"W-what's up with him? Ya think he's crazy?"

Raphael squinted and sniffed the air. Even from this far away he could smell the pungent odor of a human. Like bacon rotting in the sun. His face crinkled in disgust.

"Must live underground."

Michelangelo let out a small breath.

"He's a mole man?"

"A professor. Once upon a time. That's what I heard last time I followed him here."

"Like Dumbledore?"

"No, Mikey. It means he used ta be a professor," He gave a pointed jab towards the sewer floor as Michelangelo's disc-like eyes followed the trajectory, "until he ended up down here."

"Do... do you think we smell like that?"

Raphael didn't move his eyes from the show: "Well. You do."

" _Har dee har_." Michelangelo snapped back, then after a moments thought: "Really?"

"No, you _idiot_. We got hot water hooked up down here and everything."

"Oh. Yeah. Right." A second's thought later: "You sure?"

Raphael merely turned back and glared.

Michelangelo fell silent once more, watching as Splinter exchanged a small box, neatly tied with string, for a long and narrow package, bound in cloth.

"What do you think they're swapping?"

"Well, it ain't recipes." Raphael snipped, rubbing his snout into the crook of his arm. The spring weather was kicking up, even underground. Combined with Michelangelo's incessant questions, the irritation was bordering on intolerable.

"What do you think made him end up down here?"

Raphael tossed up his arms: "How am I supposed ta know?!"

The outburst was louder than he had anticipated. Splinter swiveled in their direction, his nose twitching in distaste. Instinctively they shuffled back and fell silent.

" _You think he saw us_?" Michelangelo mouthed.

The answer came loud and clear-

"My sons. Reveal yourselves immediately."

Duly caught, Michelangelo and Raphael exchanged a look of complicit dread.

" _Damn_."

Michelangelo gave his brother a light shove.

"You first, Raphie."

"Get off me, geez." Raphael hissed, slapping his brother's hand of his shell. Michelangelo reluctantly dropped his grip.

"Okay. Okay. Please. Just… you first."

Raphael snickered and dusted off his shoulder for effect. It was bad enough to have been busted, but he wasn't about to let Mikey lose his shit over it.

"Watch how it's done, baby bro."

It almost sounded like unblemished confidence. Not even under harsh scrutiny would his brother have known otherwise. Raphael stepped out from the outfall pipe and dropped two feet to the damp sewer floor with a small splash. He looked back to see Michelangelo glued against the wall.

"Comin' or what?"

Michelangelo made a tight strangled noise before hopping down beside his brother. He locked up, thumbs looped beneath the _kusari_ of his nanchaku, warily watching the professor from a safe distance.

"C'mon."

Raphael grabbed his arm, and began dragging him towards their sensei against Michelangelo's constant resistance, until finally they flanked his rear. Splinter flicked up his tail and swooped them closer still.

"It is okay, Michelangelo." Splinter murmured with a pat of his son's head, "This is the Professor. He is a friend of mine and has been helping me in obtain supplies." He turned back towards the stranger, "Professor, these are my sons: Raphael and Michelangelo."

At the names, the Professor gave a chuckle of delight, "What wonderful namesakes!" he boomed, "Both Angels and Renaissance masters! How delightful! And I hear you are becoming masters of a different art?"

"Uh, um… huh?" Raphael stuttered. He glanced back at Michelangelo who seemed to be ignited by the attention…

"You mean my 'chucks?!" Michelangelo interjected brightly, "Check this out!"

He plucked them from his _obi_ and began twirling them with ease at his sides.

"Whoa there, young man!" the Professor said, holding his arms wide, "I'm afraid I won't be able to see a thing. It is a disposition of my circumstance, you _see_?" His hand wiped in front of his blank face, "Nothing!"

Confused, Michelangelo went limp, his 'chucks following suit a fraction of a second later. The look of confusion prompted Raphael to fill in the blanks:

"He's blind, genius."

Michelangelo's stare flickered back and forth between his brother and the Professor:

"Seriously?"

The Professor stooped lower, leveling his face to Michelangelo's, as his milky cataracts peered straight through him.

"Absolutely, I confess."

Raphael squinted, "And how do we know ya not fakin' it?"

Splinter, having witnessed his sons disregard for both protocol and manners within a span of sixty seconds, snapped:

"Enough!"

"Sorry, Sensei." They muttered both together and out of sync.

The Professor merely listened on with a chuckle simmering beneath the surface.

"It is fine, my dear friend." he assured Splinter, "Twelve - what a grand age! I remember quite well what it is like to be full of questions! Oh, to be young again and see the fiery colors of a New England fall."

Michelangelo's look of chagrin transformed into curiosity once more:

"H-how do you know where you're going down here, sir?"

"A mighty good question." He swung out his sandal, curiously bound with duct tape, and dangled it in the air. "The secret is practice. Ten steps every day. Ten steps the next. And ten more every day after." He dropped his foot and gave a slight inclination of his head, "And of course it always helps to have a friend or two."

A twitch of amusement danced on Splinter's lips.

Michelangelo held a single digit skywards, "So… you can't see how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"One." The professor answered promptly.

"How did – hey, wait a minute!"

The Professor's laughter boomed around them.

"An educated guess. I always start low." He confided with a tap on his nose.

Michelangelo practically squirmed on the spot, eager to learn more.

"Can I ask you something else?

The Professor tilted towards the young turtle's voice with a smile that barely contained his laughter.

"But of course."

"What's in your package?"

" _Michelangelo_." Splinter admonished, his ears flattening against his head.

"It is alright, my friend, a curious mind is a sign of a healthy mind. My package, my dear boy, is merely some traditional medicine concocted by your Master. Nothing more intriguing than that, I am sorry to say!"

Michelangelo nodded, forgetting he couldn't be seen.

"Oh. I get it. So... um, what's wrong with you?"

Splinters head snapped down, silencing Michelangelo with his steely-eyed stare, as beside him Raphael tried in vain to hold back a snigger.

"Apologies, Professor," Splinter said through gritted fangs, "my son's curiosity has surpassed his manners one too many times today. Perhaps it is best if we say farewell for now."

.

They already knew they were in trouble - but knew they were _really_ in trouble at the speed at which Splinter took off for the Lair. It took Raphael and Michelangelo three steps to one of their masters as he led them swiftly through the warrens, backtracking only three times to throw the trail. From his rear, they exchanged a guilty look, still too nervous to address him. It was Michelangelo that cracked first.

"I'm sorry, Sensei." he huffed as he raced through a sluggish sewer stream.

"Me too." Raphael added, guilt twisting in his stomach, "Sorry."

The low grunt with which their Master replied only ratcheted up their fear even more. Once inside the Lair, his demeanor stiffened. Both Michelangelo and Raphael waited behind him, silent and shame-faced, for their punishment to be issued. Splinter rounded at long last, as his shoulders relaxed.

"Michelangelo, you are dismissed. Raphael. Wait here."

Michelangelo shot his brother a terrified look before scurrying off. A bitter ire grew inside Raphael. Of course he was the one copping it. He braced himself. What would it be this time? All chores for a month solid? Double training rounds? With Michelangelo out of ear-shot, Splinter at last spoke.

"That is the first time he has left the Lair since he was attacked, is it not?"

The question threw him off guard. Raphael took a brief second to compose himself before finally answering.

"Y-yes, Master Splinter."

Splinter's eyes drifted shut in relief, and a heavy sigh left him. To Raphael it sounded like it had been there for months, festering inside his Master since the terrible assault on their brother over half a year earlier.

"Good." he said, barely soft enough to carve the air.

"C-come again, Sensei?"

His master's eyes snapped open. The hardened look that Raphael was so used to seeing gave way to something more gentle.

"Perhaps you do not know?" Splinter reached into the inner pocket of his stole and extracted the bundle he had exchanged with the Professor. It was obvious, now, what it was: "A training sword."

Raphael's head gave a slight dip in confusion.

"For Leo?"

"For Michelangelo." Splinter corrected, "For many months, now, I have tried to ease your brother of the evils that haunt him. I had hoped a change in study of weaponry, in _kata_ , would aid in healing him from the nightmares and fear that has infiltrated his mind. But today is first day I truly believe he will vanquish them. I do not profess to know how you do it, my son. But for this, I thank you."

The revelation caused Raphael's mouth to drop open.

"B-but Master Splinter… I didn't do anything…"

The fangs in Splinters mouth gleamed as he grinned wryly. To Raphael, slightly sinister.

"If only that were true. Now, do not disobey my orders again or else you will find out what punishment you have avoided today. You are dismissed."

Raphael nodded dumbly, and glanced over towards Michelangelo's room. The main living area was empty aside from Splinter and himself. Leonardo had spent the morning tending to the small greenhouse at the rear of the Lair. Donatello, no doubt, was holed up in his room reading. But his youngest brother's room was oddly silent, as it had been for months. How had he not noticed how off it was before today? Then it happened- a faint click and the soft rumblings of music began, seeping out from beneath Mikey's door.

"Yes, Master Splinter."

...


	14. Erudite

14\. ERUDITE

…

 _"_ _Raph?"_

...

"I don't get it... why aren't you _listening_ to me?!" Muscles tensed along Michelangelo's face, running beneath his green skin to where his neck met his plastron, distorting his face in a way his brothers were not used to seeing.

Raphael snorted.

"It's hard to when you spend most of ya life fuckin' around, Mikey."

Michelangelo shook his head, trying to understand what was so difficult for his brothers to comprehend. He glanced over to Donatello, leaning quietly against a container wall; then back over to Leonardo, who had folded his arms as dark shadows streamed across his rigid stance. Thrusting a hand to his side, he tried to rationalize some sense into them.

"I'm not an idiot. I saw what happened, so will you just trust me on this?"

"What?" Leonardo questioned openly, doubtful, "What could you have possibly seen?"

"I told you. Earlier tonight when we were hauling shell to all four corners of the city for endurance training, I passed by here on the way back home. I saw Karai. And she was pointing down at the assembly warehouse down on the docks. I think the Foot are heading down there."

Leonardo shook his head.

"That's impossible. She gave me her word that she wasn't going to engage in any activity with the turf wars around here. The Mafia have controlled the docks since the dawn of money."

"Oh, she _did_ , did she?" Raphael repeated bitterly.

Leonardo flung a glare back at his brother. The others let the remark slip - but not without note.

"Donnie? Raph?" Michelangelo pleaded.

Donatello hesitated, darting his eyes between his brothers. He grappled with the bo in his hands before arriving a decision.

"I don't think even the Foot are crazy enough to take on the Mob." He shrugged awkwardly, "Maybe you misunderstood her body language?"

"The survey's in." Raphael snickered with an amused grin, "You _are_ an idiot."

Michelangelo grunted in frustration, unhooked his _nunchaku,_ and gripped them tightly.

"You believe _her_ over _me_? Thanks a lot. If ya lookin' for me, I'll be trying to stop the Foot."

He vaulted from the container, landing without a sound onto the wooden planks lining the ground. Without a backwards glance he slipped into the night.

"What? All by yerself?" Raphael called out after him.

" _Mikey!_ " Leonardo commanded with a loud hiss. He rounded on Raphael, "Great. Thanks for making it worse."

Raphael shook his head, arms spring loaded by his sides and ready to unleash.

"Don't you pin that shit on me. You coulda called it."

Donatello's lips pressed tighter than they had been all year before flipping his bo behind his shell and shoving it into its strap. To no-one's surprise, Leonardo said nothing.

Raphael spat out the next line as dark as tar: "Just what I thought."

"Well." Leonardo said, "You seem to have all the answers. Now what?"

"Either he's gonna get himself killed or he's goin' to be standin' around scratching his shell. I'm goin' after him. Alone." He leapt up and landed gracefully, shooting a dark look up at their leader from the salt encrusted boardwalk below, "But if anythin' goes wrong, you're takin' the fall for it, Fearless. That's the first time I heard any shit 'bout Karai sayin' _anything_."

.

Raphael entered the dank assembly warehouse through an cracked open side door. It seemed Michelangelo had already made it. Artificial light from the boardwalk streamed through the caged loft windows, sending shards of sterile beams across the piles of stacked crates on the working floor. He looked over to the large tools that hung silently from the walls, noticing nothing amiss or disturbed.

 _Just what I thought. Empty as a nun's womb_.

He sniffed the air, inhaling the odd odor of diesel mixed with rotting seaweed from the polluted water. But nothing out of the ordinary. It didn't take long before he spotted Michelangelo standing wearily in the center of the warehouse, a beam of moonlight clipping his shoulder.

"Like I said," Raphael said as silently approached his brother's defeated form, "You're an idiot."

Michelangelo's face had settled into resignation. He jammed his nunchucks back into the loops on his belt.

"What do you care?" he said, barely contained voice echoing in the sterile chamber, "It's easy for you. You never screw up like I do, right? I'm just the kid. Always standing in the shadows of three bigger brothers." his tone pitched up: " _Mikey, you must be seeing things_." He turned to face his older brother, tears of betrayal welling in his eyes."I would have backed you." his voice choked as he thrust his finger accusingly towards Raphael, "And I never would've believed someone else over one of you guys. Especially not someone from the _Foot_. I mean, _Karai_?! That liar? That's just… _insulting_."

A strangled, humorless chuckle left Michelangelo. To find the warehouse empty was one thing - but Raphael knew unmistakably, now, to have been brushed aside in favor of their enemy had hurt him unimaginably deep.

"Trust me. I don't believe a single word that _lyin' bitch_ says." he growled slowly, "But what's so hard to believe about thinkin' ya might have got yer wires crossed? It's not _personal._ "

"Not personal? Why would I mess up this kinda stuff? You know that I don't screw around when it comes to the heavy shit, bro. And fuck me for thinking that you – _you –_ would know the difference."

 _Mikey never swears._

Raphael had never noticed until he did.

"Yeah, about that..." Raphael began uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck, "Look - sometimes Leo lets his dick do the thinkin' where Karai's involved. In case ya can't tell, he's in denial about the whole thing. Me - I think she'd sooner rip off our shells than utter one true word. But he had a fair point about the Mob in this part of town. They don't fuck around, Mikey. They're armed to the teeth with firepower. A happy little byproduct of controllin' the docks. Somethin' the Foot can't compete with."

" _Yet_." Michelangelo added pointedly.

"Maybe so." Raphael's eyes fell intently onto his brother, gauging his mood. The sense of betrayal still simmered hotly beneath his surface. Raphael couldn't remember ever seeing him this pissed. "And besides that, I screw up plenty. Don't think ya got the market cornered on that one."

"I'm not a joke."

Raphael nodded solemnly, "Never said ya were. Think it was _idiot_. Which I'm gonna stand by if ya think we don't trust ya. 'Cause I do. Stake my life on it."

A small, relieved sniffle escaped Michelangelo.

"I don't understand. Doesn't it make sense that the Foot would want to control the Docks, too? They're not even the second largest gang in New York. They must be chomping at the bit to take territory."

"I s'pose..." Raphael admitted.

"You know what? I don't even care about it. _Fuck_ the Foot. And the Mob. What's even the point, anyway? They'll just replace the ones they lose and we go and risk our necks all over again. I _know_ Karai was scoping this place. I don't know why, but I saw it. And it just _sucks_ that my own brothers don't even believe me."

"I believe ya, Mikey." he said truthfully. "But look around. I don't hafta tell you it's a ghost town 'round here. Whatever's happenin', it ain't happenin' now. Tell ya what - let's book. Call it a night. Maybe we can catch the late night movie on TV. What do ya say?"

The olive branch was puny and he knew it. He didn't what he'd do if Michelangelo refused. But that was the thing about Mikey. In all things in life, he fought for the war, not the battles. But what exactly was this war, Raphael wondered?

"Don't know if you'd wanna watch it." he sniffled, lifting his head up fractionally, "It's the one with the giant roach monster."

"Funny shoes?"

"Yeah."

Raphael winced in disgust: "Peachy."

Although the hurt still seemed to linger, Michelangelo offered a small yielding nod.

"Thanks."

A small crooked smile broke across Raphael's broad features. Reaching back, he tightened the knot of his mask, flicking his sight wanly over the shadowy expanse of the large warehouse, before settling on pile of stacked loading palettes in the far corner. He narrowed his eyes, thinking he caught a slight bit of movement.

"Don't mention it."

He slung his arm around his brother, swiveling him around before pushing him forward with a pat on his shell.

"C'mon. Let's get the fuck out 'a here."

...

"Turns out you were right, Mikey. Two days later and we would 'a been there. Remember when we found out about the bloodbath that went down at the docks? Twelve men dead in the crossfire, and all swept neatly under the rug as gang violence. 'Course we put two an' two together, and figured out soon enough it was the Mob and the Foot. Forensics musta been pickin' bullets and shuriken outta the walls for weeks. You rubbed it in our faces _so_ bad. But I guess we had that one comin'. In fact, the only good thing that came outta that mess was that the Foot lost that little rough up. So said your friend Mondo down at junkyard city, anyway. Seems like a bunch of our problems were wiped out for us that night. If we hadda been there...I don't wanna know what woulda happened. Maybe it's a good thing we had the wrong day. Still woulda liked to have let loose on a few of those fuckers, though."

Raphael gaze fell to his tightly bundled fists. He flexed his fingers out then in, letting the tension in them subside.

"I want ya to know somethin', Mikey. Somethin' I never told you before, 'cause you know me, I'm not into that sentimental shit: I fuckin' _envy_ you. You just let shit roll off your back, and bounce back without a fuckin' care in the world. But I guess that's not how the rest of us were put together. Do you know how many times Splinter told you ta get yer head outta the clouds and buckle down in trainin'? We heard him say it again and again, 'cause he knew somethin' that pissed the rest of us right off: you had talent, bro. If you had half the mind, you coulda been killin' it. Guess that wasn't on yer agenda though, right? Don't know what pissed me off more, that you had the natural goddamned ability, or that ya weren't interested in usin' it. I mean, Christ. Do you know how hard Leo trains just to get to the same level you _start off_ at? Fuck that. An' you know what else? I think... I think Splinter saw somethin' in you. Marked you for somethin'. But he was takin' his time with you, 'cause you run wide brother. Waitin' til ya grew up a bit, probably. But ya got a big heart and ya more savvy than ya let on. I know it. He knows it. And you'd be good at it. Always with an empty stomach and a fart joke...remind ya of anyone? Cause it sure as hell sounds like the Ancient One in the makin' to me."

His heart beat heavy. His stomach clenched.

"Lookin' back now, I can't help but think you were right all along. That all the fightin' amounts ta jack shit in the scheme of things. You knew. Enjoy the good things in life and take the bullshit with a grain of salt. Leo, Don and I...our scars run deep. It keeps us up at night. Somehow you figured out a way just ta let your wounds mend without leavin' a mark. Like it was some damn magic trick we could never work out. But it was never about the fightin' for you, I suppose. At least Donnie's got April, now, the lucky fuck; and Leo...who knows what the fuck is happenin' with Leo - probably playin' three card Monte with little Miss Shredder, forgettin' that the game's a con. But ya know how he is around a girl he thinks he can ' _save_ '. Me? I'm a mess. Try not to show it, but...guess I never could hide if from ya. Hit the bottle harder than I should, an' wake up with more blackouts than I care to remember. It takes five whacks at the snooze button an' half a packet of tums just to get ta trainin' these days. I keep wakin' up sayin' that _this_ is gonna be the day, _this_ time ya gonna jump out an' scare the shit outta us. But so far, I'm still waitin' for the punchline."

He glanced up.

"Anyway." he said softly, "If ya gonna do it, you should do it soon, 'cause the set-up on this one's been draggin' on way too long."

Raphael suddenly stopped and dropped his head into his broad hands, a soft chuckle erupting from within.

"Heh - I just remembered what ya made us do after we found out you were right about the shit that went down at the warehouse. Thought I'd burnt it outta my memory, but Jesus Christ, how could I forget? Fuck, only _you'd_ wanna play ping pong usin' ya 'chucks. How many times did we hafta tell ya that Bruce Lee video was made usin' special effects? But no. You made us all play until you could hit a hundred in a row. That took _weeks_ , Mikey. And ya broke at least a box worth of damn ping pong balls. We were findin' those things over the lair for nearly six months. Even ya damn cat knocked out a couple out from under ya bed."

Raphael recalled the ecstatic expression on Michelangelo's face when he finally achieved his goal. He had run around the Lair like he was on fire, and lifted everyone off the ground like he had won a Lamborghini on a shitty game show. Later that day he had even treated them all to a cake that he had made... in his own honor. Raphael had taken his slice with a scowl, then smashed the buttery sponge into his brother's face amid a houseful of cackles.

"Guess you were right about that, too."

He heaved a sigh, rubbing at his temples.

"It's funny. We would always go into battle lookin' for victory, and couldn't even see that we took it in with us. A family. Brothers. It's only when ya older ya realize that havin' that is not a given. It's a gift. And I spent a lotta time lookin' that gift horse in the mouth, like I was kinda damn dentist or somethin'" Raphael gave a humorless laugh, "See Mikey - it's like ya were born just knowin' this stuff that took the rest of us a lifetime to work out. You were always the bright spot, remindin' us to leave the heavy shit behind and _laugh_. So, no. You were never standin' in our shadows. You got it all wrong, 'cause without ya, we're fightin' blind. And I'm sorry, Mikey, I'm _so_ sorry if I ever made ya think different."

...


	15. A New Years' Night

A/N: Thank you for reading if you're still hanging around or just new to the fic! I'm getting there, slowly but surely. And please leave the fireworks to the professional ninjas, kiddos ;).

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15\. A NEW YEARS' NIGHT

"Uh… everyone? Hey! Listen Up! I got something ta say!"

Michelangelo held his drink high before his family as the chattering fell silent. Together they had huddled outside a short distance from the farmhouse porch, freezing and rugged up to ward off the hostile New England weather. Nervous with excitement, they were all more than ready to get the festivities underway before the imminent threat of joining ranks with the snowmen. Michelangelo cleared his throat and continued:

"Welcome to the annual celebration of the Earth's loop around the sun! We made it! Who'd 'a thunk? Anyway, it might only be us guys out here – whoops, and _gals_ , sorry Apes – but did you really think we were gonna watch a ball drop on a TV with fuzzy reception? I say NO! Not only are we gonna boot out that clusterfuu… _dge_ of a year, we're gonna welcome in the new one in style. And ta pump up the celebrations, we're making a game of it. So, hold onto ya hats, ladies, 'cause in a sec you'll notice that there's a designated firework for each of ya - and aside from the obvious…" he gave a quick point to his mask, "April, you're silver. Casey, I made ya green, and last but not least, Master Splinter is gold. Rule is to take a sip when ya color's up. So: your color, you drink. Get it? Got it? Good. Y'all ready?!"

The others looked into the clear and bitter night sky that favored the Northern part of the state, waiting.

"Yeah, yeah." Raphael said around a cold-induced sniffle, "You've been talkin' the talk all day. Do it already."

With a grin and a thumb up sign, Michelangelo darted into the center of the lawn, a little away from where the others gathered, with the detonator nestled under his arm. The idea of setting off fireworks – his idea – was more than foreign to them, the antithesis of stealth. And in the state of New York, the antithesis of legal. But a risk they were for once willing to indulge in. He rubbed his hands together, checking to see if the bridging wires were set to go. He gave a look up at his co-conspirator. Donatello gave a nod.

"Okay, here it comes-"

Michelangelo counted them in as his watch ticked the time away:

"3… 2… 1…"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" came their united voices.

A striped party-favor uncurled from April's lips, blasting out a loud toot amidst all the whoops and claps. Glasses of rum spiked coke and freezing beer clinked together around murmurs of well wishes.

Now ready for the encore, Michelangelo dropped to one knee and set a match to what he had earlier referred to as 'NYE: the sequel'. The wick hissed as the flame climbed higher:

"IT'S ON!" Michelangelo cut in above them.

All heads went up. A rocket whistled into the sky before exploding into a bloom of color. Then another. And another. Reds and purples and oranges and blues boomed into life in a shattering of light.

"Looks like we're up, boys!" Leonardo shouted, taking a sip of his drink.

The skepticism and excitement faded to wonder as the glow of the fireworks danced across their cold faces and blossomed in their shining eyes.

"Wow…" April breathed softly, to which sound Donatello could not help but steal a look, "I don't think I've ever been so close before… we didn't need some kind of permit for this?"

Casey shook his head, "Naw… I mean, why ask fer permission if ya can get forgiveness? An' I figure if the law comes sniffin' in the middle of nowhere about a coupla fireworks on New Years' Eve, I can always blame it on some kids in the area."

"Hm. Close enough."

Above them a twinkling of green blossomed in the air to a large crack and boom, feathering out into smaller wands of light.

"Batter up, C-man."

"Green?" Casey barked into the night, "How'd ya figure me fer _green_?"

"Honorary turtle?" Michelangelo ventured.

Spotting that his friend hadn't obeyed his cue, Raphael lit up: "Drink up, Case!"

Casey obligingly downed half his can and let forth a rolling burp to a blast of applause from Michelangelo and Raphael.

"Ha!" he boomed, "Top that, kiddies!"

"Ugh," April wiped the spittle from her cheek, "that is _disgusting_!"

"Not so fast, little lady," Casey slurred huskily, as he pulled her into a midnight kiss, "Time to pay the piper..."

Donatello turned away from the sight, focusing instead on the light above transforming to orange. He felt a comforting hand thump his shell and temporarily broke away from his New Year melancholy. It was Leonardo.

"So, what's your resolution for the year, Don?"

"I haven't given it too much thought." he said, hoping the obvious lie wouldn't be detected.

"Humor me."

The piercing gaze of his brother set upon Donatello in such a way in which he found no wiggle room. Even with a drink in his hand, Leonardo had a way of being effortlessly commanding. Donatello gave a soft exhale, looking up as the pale silver light that bloomed above them briefly lit the surrounding woodland . He shivered into his coat, but the spectacular sight gave a strange, warming hope of its own. Enchanted by its beauty, he found the freedom to answer.

"Maybe to accept what is."

A purple firework exploded in the sky, raining down tiny specks of spent explosive powder as it shimmered brightly. April gasped and turned back to catch his eye, pointing to the bright amethyst flowering the sky. Donatello smiled in return and sipped his drink before answering under his breath.

"Gratitude for what I do have."

Overhearing them, Raphael snickered, his warm breath leaving streams of mist in the cold air. He tugged at his scarf, pulling it higher on his neck. The itching was driving him crazy… but still preferable to the sub-zero temperatures.

"Sheesh. The only person that could possibly be more borin' would hafta be Leo."

"What's on your agenda, then?" Leonardo poked back, not able to hide his amusement. After all, what celebration would be complete without a little bit of shit-talking?

"Resolutions? Never make 'em." Raphael announced to them all bluntly, "Not interested in settin' myself up fer failure."

At that, Splinter leaned forward onto his cane, clasping a snifter of _sake_ in his claw. He had been bundled well to insulate his thinning fur, and looked particularly wolf-like beneath all his layers of blankets.

"That is a very interesting premise, my son, given that few lessons are learned without some measure of failure. Perhaps I may, instead, offer you a resolution - such as joining your brother for his pre-dawn training session?"

"Sensei - tell me ya don't seriously want me ta get up for a 6-AY-frickin'-EM run through the woods with Leo?"

As a gold firework burst above them, Splinter merely returned a sanguine grin that they all knew from experience not to question. He raised his small glass to his lips and sipped.

"There may be no short-cuts around Gibson's hill," Leonardo said with a swoop of his arm towards the small rise hidden in the distance, "but the payoff is that you get to see the sunrise from the top."

"Whoopee." Raphael snorted, casting a furtive glance across to the dark forest.

Casey chimed in with a savage: "Ha!"

April stifled a giggle and clinked her glass against Donatello's: "To Raph's Year! May it fare better for the rest of us!"

Donatello smiled. Beneath the starry sky she looked positively alive and vital.

"Now you're just asking the obvious."

She sipped her rum and coke.

Michelangelo broke the moment of silence, "So, Leo. Are ya gonna let us in on the big secret?"

"My resolution?"

"Ya, bro. That's what I'm getting at."

Leonardo shrugged, deciding to skirt over deeper meanings, "To be honest, I wanted to make it the year I properly learned the _shakuhachi_. There are a few more technical songs I would like to be able to play. You know. For fun."

That the songs in question were serenades were of no consequence to the others, he decided quite resolutely. From the amused expressions, he didn't need to.

Without missing a beat, Michelangelo piped up, "Do you mean, like, _love_ songs?"

The implication was not lost on the others.

"I-What?!" Leonardo protested, taken aback at being so abruptly called out, "I haven't really-"

An unworldly groan came from Raphael beneath a fresh burst of red in the heavens.

"Great, so not only do I have ta go fer a run at the crack of 6am, I hafta listen to you blow on a flute all the livelong day as well."

"It's character building!" April said brightly, patting his cheek for good measure, "Now drink."

Raphael rolled his eyes and took a slug of his beer. She turned her attention to Leonardo, "And romantic."

"I s'pose you got somethin' better than these clowns?"

"Sure." April answered, "I mean… sure."

They all waited in anticipation for her answer.

"Spill it, O'Neil." Michelangelo urged.

April glanced up into the sky, and back down at their expectant faces. She huffed, deciding to let them in.

"Well, I've always got my fallbacks… eat better, read more… but I guess my big resolution this year would be to learn more Japanese-" she paused, glancing around at their puzzled looks, "so I can finally understand what Donnie's yells at his computer when there's a bug in his code!"

She laughed into the resounding silence. Realizing no-one was joining her, her face dropped.

"Oh… d-did I say something wrong?"

"You mean when he does this-" Michelangelo shook his fist in the air before rattling off a string of Japanese. With but a moment to spare, Leonardo leaned in and covered Splinter's ears until the tirade was over.

"Uh, yeah," April nodded, "So... ah, are you going to translate for me or what?"

April looked over at Donatello with a twinkle in her eye, trying to unlock another layer of her brilliant friend. To her surprise, he squirmed on the spot.

"It's pretty bad." Michelangelo responded apologetically, "Maybe that one should stay in the dark."

"Now I'm _definitely_ intrigued."

"It's bad, April." Raphael confirmed.

April shot a puzzled look over at Donatello, who seemed to shirk beneath tidal wave of embarrassment, "Oh geez, I had no idea I was doing that in front of you." he apologized, "I am so, _so_ sorry…"

Casey laughed and slapped Donatello square in the plastron, "Never knew ya had it in ya, bud."

April turned to peer at her fiancé, "You understood that?"

"Nope. Didn't need ta. Just look at his face."

Raphael held a tight grin and quickly forced a change in the subject.

"Ya gonna get somethin' right this year, for once, Case?"

"Like shoelaces?" Michelangelo joked. Raphael shot a silencing glare at his youngest brother before turning back to his friend.

"Already done." Casey smirked and hooked an arm around April and dragged her closer, "But, I do wanna get all the plumbin' in the ol' family lot back there in good order before me an' April move in. Make the farmhouse the farm _home_."

Alarm widened her eyes.

"Case - you want to move here?"

"I'm, uh, sorry, babe. You love it so much out here, I guess I thought it weren't even a question."

The color seemed to drain from her face.

"I mean, there's work to consider, and my apartment and-" she stopped short and glanced around at small crowd pretending not to listen, "Later?"

"Later, babe." Casey reaffirmed sheepishly.

April drilled her stare into the padded snow and shirked off the impending argument with a toss of her head. Unable to do anything else, Donatello took a sip of his drink in defeat.

"Hey, Donnie." Michelangelo said with a gentle bap on his brother's arm, "It's not your color, yet, dude."

"Oh. Right. The game."

Donatello lowered his drink.

"Yep." Michelangelo winked, "The game's not over." He turned his attention to Splinter who stood peering calmly at the sky, "Hey, Sensei. Tell me ya got something more in store besides torturing Raph. Not that I'm complaining or anything…"

Their master shuffled underfoot.

"Less cheese." he answered gruffly, with a tap of his heart. The others laughed.

"Wow – did you see that one? It split into smaller branches of blue!" April cried.

"If I didn't know better, Mikey" Leonardo said as he raised his glass to his lips, "I'd swear you were trying to get us all wasted."

Beneath splashes of golden orange light, Michelangelo mimed a sip of his empty can.

"Leo, this is me we're talking about. Would I do a thing like that?"

" _Yes_." They all answered together.

Michelangelo didn't miss a beat: "FYI, that blue one split into five branches. Five drinks, bro."

"I don't think so."

It came out so dry, there was little point in arguing it.

Leonardo frowned up into the sparkling sky, absentmindedly massaging his left shoulder he'd pulled in training. With a truce with the Foot realized it seemed as if Splinter had found a peace that had long eluded him. The enemy was no longer an enemy. He wondered if would ever approve of him seeing her. Sometimes he could almost smell her, masked beneath the splash of men's cologne, the distinctly unique smell she could not disguise from him. The smell that made his limbs twinge in longing.

"Mikey?" he said, breaking into his own musings, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Resolutions?"

Michelangelo looked back at his brother, a grin spreading across his face.

"Easy. Neverending cake."

The corner of their master's mouth gave the tiniest twitch of approval. At the revelation, Raphael whacked him on the shell so hard he stumbled forward into the dead grass.

"Yer a fuckin' oddball sometimes. Anyone ever told ya that?"

"You, dude." Michelangelo paused to flick off the foamy dregs that Raphael had splashed on his hand, "Like, all the time. I think I gotta dent on my shell from where ya keep slapping me."

"What a' brothers for?" Raphael took in a deep breath, forcing it out again from the depths of his lungs where the heaviness festered, "Fuck, what a year. All that shit with the Foot. Never thought we'd get to the other side."

"And now here we are. Enjoying our truce. Feels kinda the same, doesn't it?"

"Guess it does." Raphael pitched his empty can into the darkness and reached down to rip another from the six pack wedged in the frozen tundra by his feet.

"Ya think it was all worth it?" Michelangelo pressed, "All the stuff we went through… just for it ta feel the same?"

Raphael frowned as he cracked a fresh can open. "Don't know, Mikey. Could be worse, y'know?"

There was a point there, somewhere; he was just not so good at expressing it. Luckily, Michelangelo picked up on it and gave a snicker of amusement.

"So… what now, ya think?"

Raphael took a gulp and shrugged, "Who cares?"

"Outta the mouths of babes…"

A bright pop of color burst above them.

"I got this." Raphael chugged back another mouthful for good measure and thumped his chest to let rip a groaning burp.

Michelangelo clapped in approval: "Not bad. Stumbled the landing. Seven out of ten, Raphie."

"That was a nine. _Easy_."

"No way. _Clearly_ missing the reverberating synchronicity of Leo's attempt after dinner."

"Bullshit, Donnie."

"Why don't we call them equal but different?"

"'cause no-one asked you ta rain on the fun, Leo." He tossed a shout over to his left, "Call it, Case."

"Sorry, pal. I'm gonna have ta go with Fearless over there."

"April?"

She grimaced and shrugged.

"Sorry, Raph."

Raphael's mouth flat-lined, "Great. Turtle luck running true ta form."

Silver and gold sparkled in the sky. April sipped her drink and gave a nod of approval.

"Mikey, did you design this show? It's amazing."

"Yep. Donnie did the tech stuff but the timing is all mine. And I'm not even going ta tell you how much I dipped into my personal savings ta set it up. But that's me. The nice one. The _amazingly_ nice one."

"Yeah, well: It's a little _too_ nice. Like ya settin' us up fer a prat-fall."

Michelangelo's eyes narrowed but remained glued to the sky: "More like a curve-ball."

"That's what I thought."

As the last of the red shimmered away, Michelangelo called out to Donatello.

"Hey, Donnie. Check it out: ya gonna like this one."

Above them, a combination of purples and silvers spurted into the sky. Donatello's squeak of horror was lost beneath the boom and crack of another explosion. But even from a little distance away, Michelangelo saw the silhouette of them both taking a sip of their drinks. Lovers separated only by space and time.

"I always did like those crazy colors together." Michelangelo sighed wistfully, "You know, the original plan was ta have nothing but gold fireworks. Ya think Splinter woulda taken the bait?"

Raphael eyed off their master who now stood a little apart from the group, gazing serenely at the fireworks above. A burst of green lit the sky. Casey chugged.

"Have you ever seen Splinter drunk?"

"Only that one time." Michelangelo conceded with a wriggle of his hand.

"When yer spiked the punch at his birthday?"

"Heh… man, my knees _still_ hurt from kneeling on all that rice."

Raphael chuckled and slung his arm across his brother's shoulders.

"Happy New Year, Mikey." He clanked their cans together, "Make it a good one."

"Always, bro."

A burst of red, a sip, and a scoff later: "Neverending cake, eh?"

Michelangelo grinned, "What are brothers for?"

..


	16. Champagne Room

A/N: A little flash back to the not so distant past. Thanks for sticking around and reading this infrequently updated story. Please enjoy.

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16\. CHAMPAGNE ROOM

The moon hovered in the night sky like a radioactive orange slice, casting a citrine tinge across the city. Alongside the calm shores of the Hudson, a small industrial park was stirring to life. It was after midnight. No-one save security should have been around.

"This is the place?" Raphael whispered.

Leonardo nodded, his eyes unmoving from the small group of people emerging from the vans below.

"This is it."

"Ya sure?"

To his side, Michelangelo eked past his brother's shoulder, then nodded.

"Yeah, Raphie. That's what Mondo told me."

"You trust that guy? How'd ya know this ain't a trap."

"Trust me, bro. This intel is good. The Dragons have been shaking half of the city down and recruiting the other half. Special invite only. Pass the test and ya practically a lieutenant."

"And which one did ya little friends get done for?"

"Put it this way. They don't have money to shake down."

"What the fuck, Mikey? They joined the Dragons, now?! Did you care to tell us that little tidbit before we hauled ass out here?"

"I did tell you. And they haven't joined. They've been laying low."

"And we wanna recon this, _why_?"

"Because…" Donatello raised his night vision goggles and scanned the rooftops of the surrounding vacant factories and seeing nothing but level lines, "Not only do we have a chance to see their initiation process and work out their secret identifiers, there's also rumor that some of the police force are tied up in this. A little anonymous phone call to Internal Affairs and we can cut a wing off this dragon."

"Or a head." Leonardo said so softly it was if the wind had whispered into his ear, "And besides that, any information is a boon – 'know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles'."

Great. Now he was quoting Sun Tzu. Raphael arched his head back, looking over the coping from their vantage point. Eyes narrowed he counted only four others gathered by the armed entrance to the site. He slunk back down, shell scraping on the brick, with a confused toss of his head.

"But there ain't even a single recruit here- 'cept those fat clowns drivin' the trucks." He dislodged a sai and spun it lazily in his hand. Not exactly the most stealthiest move, but he was getting beyond bored watching the night pass.

"Be patient."

Raphael gave a soft snort of distaste. Nothing like being told off by Leonardo to sweeten his foul mood. He shoved his sai back into its holder.

"Hey, Raph: wanna make bet who had the last shower – you, or that big guy down there by the 'Flowers By Irene' truck? I mean, I can practically see his fumes from here, _pee_ -yeeew…"

"You should talk, Mikey. The rest of us are gettin' a restrainin' order on yer feet."

"Hey, what do ya want me ta do? We live in the sewers and don't wear shoes."

"Keep it down." Leonardo hissed. For a moment they obeyed, watching the scene like sentinels. Or gargoyles, as Raphael personally liked to think.

"Hold up, guys!"

Donatello blindly tapped Leonardo's arm, "They've got three on top – two stationed on the east side and, and another patrolling the south wing. They're all suited up, too – CB's, guns, metal batons.. . and one of them looks like he has a knife strapped to his shin. Hm. I wonder if some of these guys are ex-army, because that holster looks typical of post-WWI millitary issue-"

" _Donnie_ …" Michelangelo whined, preemptively cutting off his brother's impromptu lecture.

Donatello pulled an apologetic face and lowered his goggles, looking to Leonardo for further instruction. Their plan to get in through the roof access point was temporarily thrown. If Leonardo was thrown off, his face didn't show it.

"That's... not so bad-"

All their attention whipped over to the strange wasp-like buzz in the distance. Just as quickly, Donatello honed his goggles on the source.

"Oh no… criminey crap… crap and criminey!" Donatello hissed, throwing himself down flat on the roof. He unzipped his bag and began digging around, "They've got heat-seeking drones! Take one of these - QUICK - and cover yourself!"

" _Criminey_?" Michelangelo repeated with a soft chuckle.

"Not the point right now, Mikey." Leonardo growled, unfolding the metallic sheet Donatello had given him, "All under?"

"Yeah, yeah." Raphael covered his head and twisted back to scold his brother, "Cool ya heels."

Leonardo gave a wary glance skyward: "And these things work, Donnie?"

"They're, ah…" Donatello answered, his throat ratcheting tighter, "still in beta testing."

Raphael glanced back towards Michelangelo, "Yo, ding-dong - ya foot!"

Michelangelo gave a soft gasp and skid his right foot back under his reflective sheath. Just in time. A low whirring sound appeared overhead. The brothers fell silent and remained motionless as the small remote controlled device skimmed over them. It remained only a brief second, detecting nothing, before moving on.

"Phew, that was close." Michelangelo whispered, letting his head fall back to rest on the cement, "Heh, it's a good thing that thing those drones can't smell."

"So, just for the count," Leonardo noted aloud, "we have barred windows, heavily guarded front entrance and company on the roof and to top it all off some drones that make it very difficult for us to get around. Sounds like they're spooked, boys." He gave a quick nod as he decided his next course of action: "Let's take care of several things at once and turn up heat."

"Heat _._ " Raphael repeated to himself, "I like it."

Ignoring him, Leonardo continued

"You two," he glanced first at Michelangelo, and then to Raphael flanked to his left, "Take the detonator, plant it under one of the car's fuel tanks parked out front to create a diversion. Make it loud and set it for ten. Donnie and I are getting in through the top. Meet us inside afterwards. Move quick, and for the love of the mission, get under your heat deflectors when the drones are near. All watches synced?"

They each glanced down at their cells, each sounding off in the affirmative.

"Good. And remember – stealth moves. Donnie?" Leonardo motioned his head, and within a silent second, they had both disappeared upward into the night.

A demonic smirk cracked Raphael's face. He _loved_ teaming up with his baby brother. Leonardo and Donatello were fine and dandy you wanted technical precision in a battle - but when you wanted fun? A little flare? _Nothing_ could wreak havoc like him and Michelangelo. Just like air and fire, their combination was explosive.

He noticed the same mischievous grin on his brother.

"You heard him, Mikey. Let's go make a distraction."

"Why, Raphie-boy, that happens to be my specialty."

They leapt from their position, two hurricanes in the night, about to descend down with the most brilliant display of pyrotechnics they could muster in ten minutes.

...

Raphael's eyes opened to nothing and knew, even before the pain set in, that something was wrong.

 _Where the holy fuck am I?_

Agony rippled up his leg, from hip to foot, before finally regressing to searing pain, providing just enough of a reprieve to take stock of his situation.

 _Okay, Raph. Think. Think. Do what Donnie'd do.  
_

He pulled at his wrists and ankles. Chained. He was chained. Mouth stuffed with dry and sour tasting wad of cloth. His tongue prodded furiously at the damp cloth jammed in his mouth but could not budge it past his lips. _They taped my motherfuckin' mouth shut!_ The indignity of being silenced was somehow more infuriating than being hogtied. And just to top it off, someone had gone to the trouble of fastening a sack over his head.

 _That would explain why I can't see jack shit._

Raphael gasped as the pain in his leg flared once more. With every ounce of might he forced himself on.

 _Around me – Metal. No, slip panels. In a car. No. A truck. And we're movin'._

Then came the first real thought that scared him – where were the others? Wait… he was in the middle of a mission… Mikey… where was Mikey?

Everywhere hurt, but nowhere near as bad as his leg. He couldn't move it. Didn't know if it was still there. It felt...wrong, torn and slick with blood, He rolled onto his side against the hard, rumbling floor, and stuck back his arms against the interior wall. Growling, he thrashed, banging his one good leg against the interior wall.

 _"RRRRrrrr..."_

"Raph? Raph? Are you awake? Man, _please_ say your awake?" his younger brother pleaded in a quiet voice.

Raphael bristled, finally having something to latch his fury onto.

 _What the fuck's going on?!_

At least, that's what he intended to say. But as he went to scream, his voice was reduced to a muffled grunt. Not that Michelangelo needed translating. He could decipher on tone alone.

"Thank holy God." Michelangelo muttered with a sigh of relief, then: "Okay. Keep it down, _hermano_. I don't think they know we're awake yet."

They. Whoever _they_ were. The driver. The fuckers that had caught them.

Again, he made to scream.

" _Shut up, dude!"_ Michelangelo insisted with a hiss, " _Stealth moves, remember?_!"

Again, Raphael growled, this time softer. But he had the sense to listen. For now.

"Believe it or not, I can't understand a thing your grunting, bro. And I've had years of practice. So, I'm gonna roll over. I think I can get the bag off ya head but its gonna be tricky 'cause I'm still tied up. And fair warning - ya gonna get a whole lotta my butt in ya face. Ready?"

Michelangelo took his silence as a sign of assent. He rolled up onto his side, and wriggled his shell towards his brother. Twisting his neck, he tore the bag free from his brother's head with his teeth before setting to work on the tape with his fingertips. He finally gripped a hold of the corner of the duct tape and tore it off in one smooth motion.

The wad went flying out of his mouth. He gulped in the smell of stale money in the truck's interior.

"Where the fuck-" he gasped. " _are we_?"

"Purple Dragon's champagne room. Or one of their trucks. Tomayto, Tomahto."

"Where's the others?"

A second passed before Michelangelo answered, albeit more seriously.

"Still at the site… and I don't think they know _we're_ AWOL yet. They were still up on the roof when we got taken. It hasn't been too long but it's _us_ we gotta worry about for the minute."

Raphael relaxed his head back, eyes squeezed tight: "Fuck."

"It gets worse. They took our cells. And our weapons." Michelangelo conferred quietly, "All we got is our brains - so as you can imagine, we're in a bit of trouble here."

 _Understatement of the fucking decade._

Raphael placed his head down on the vibrating floor in a pool of his own blood, lulled calm by the sound of passing cars as he tried to process the new turn of events. He breathed. Once. Twice. Trying to think of a way out when the odds were stacked high against them. Hell. Who was he kidding? What odds?

"They got our T-cells?"

"Right before they smashed them to pieces." Michelangelo confirmed.

There went any hope of being tracked with the GPS system.

"We're fucked." he confessed with cold finality.

He closed eyes and longed to pass out.

"Raph, don't fall asleep, bro. You know what Donnie says about that. Don't leave me here talking to myself again, bro."

They turned a corner. Sharply. Michelangelo and Raphael knocked into each other, skidding sideways along the surface of the truck. Raphael gritted his teeth barely holding back a cry of pain as his shell strummed along the ribbed slips. They crashed together against the left panel.

"Fuckin'... _fuck..."_

The curse barely made it over the smooth whir of the road. The seams were gone and they were picking up speed. Every bump seared his leg afresh with pain. He'd been burnt badly once before as a kid in an incident that eventually winched him out of his burgeoning pyromania. But this...this was something else.

"You okay, bro?"

"Been better, Mikey." he ground out.

He tried to breathe evenly, anything to gear down the scorching agony that remained of his leg.

"Man, who taught these bozos how to drive? April?"

Raphael chuckled lowly but stopped when the jolting pain in his ribs became too much.

"Don't...don't make me laugh."

Michelangelo listened to his brother's breathing, now unsteady, and tried to fight back the rising panic. Raphael wasn't exactly one to complain about pain. Any mention of it, even obliquely, and it would have to be ten depths of hell bad.

"We...we turned on ta the expressway." Raphael mumbled groggily. Having been to Casey's farmhouse and innumerable amount of times, he was more than familiar of the distinct turn in the road when cooped in the dark, "We're headin' out."

"Yeah." Michelangelo said after a moments pause, "Guess Leo was right about the second base outside the city."

Their journey out of Manhattan all but confirmed it.

"No kiddin'."

"Why did ya run back in, Raph? Dude, are you _crazy_ or something? "

"Don't remember." Raphael panted, his eyes flying wide to nothing as he suddenly _did_ remember! He kicked out with his good leg, collecting his brother squarely in the shin. He winced in agony but it had been worth it. He leg throbbed angrily, twisting to his side as he ground out, "Aw, _fuck"._

Michelangelo grimaced at the kick.

" _Ow_. What is ya _problem_?"

"It was _you_ , ya ding dong. You went ta check the timer after it didn't detonate, so guess who went in ta haul yer ass back out?"

"Dude - what are ya talking about?" Michelangelo vollied back hoarsely, "I _saw_ the timer, saw that it was still counting, and ran like _hell_ in the other direction. Then - and stop me if I'm wrong about this – which, oh yeah by the way, I'm _not_ \- I saw _you_ going in and had to run back and push you outta the way before it blew up in ya face!"

"Are you _kiddin'_ me?" Raphael growled in disbelief. He set his head back down on the vibrating floor of the truck. This whole thing had been his fault. If he had just trusted Michelangelo, trusted he could do something he had done a dozen times before, they wouldn't be in this mess.

"I was conscious after it went off." Michelangelo continued, softer this time, "I couldn't move for a minute… but, I remember what happened. I don't think I'll ever forget it."

The whir of the road filled in the silence.

"Mikey... I… I fucked up." Raphael said at last. The world began flittering in and out of focus.

"Let it go, bro. We can't change it now." Hearing nothing in response, Michelangelo called out to his brother, barely suppressing note of panic: "Raph?"

Raphael grunted in reply.

"Listen ta me, Raph: don't go ta sleep. Ya gotta stay awake."

" _'m tired_." Raphael answered groggily.

All he wanted to do was close his eyes, release the pain and let the darkness take him. He'd fighting for so long- with his enemies, with his family – for all his life - and just wanted to stop.

"Don't be tired, bro. Be anything but tired. _Raph?"_

"Wha'?" came the quiet mutter.

"If you even think about sleeping, I'm gonna do my note for note re-enactment of 'Klunkenstein: the musical'."

 _Mikey._ He clenched his eyes shut before thrusting them wide open. The darkness remained, but he held onto this version with all his might. He spoke into it.

"If I hear one note of that and we get outta this – you will wish the Dragons got yer first."

Michelangelo gave a light-hearted chuckle at his brother's ire. Something was better than nothing. They were quiet a moment, then:

"They're gonna kill us, Mikey. Maybe even use us as bargaining chips, god knows we pissed off a lotta people, but the bottom line ain't changin'."

He waited in silence for his brother's reaction to that little factoid. The sooner he knew the shit they were in, the better. Finally, it came, quiet and conceding, barely rising above the constant whir of the road:

"I know."

It was in that simple admission that Raphael realized just how much he'd been underestimating his brother's resolve. They were in a bind, alright. With no free pass in sight. And still he hadn't let it defeat him. He swallowed down a choke of anguish. Like hell they were taking Mikey. Over his dead body. A cold whisper of truth told him what he had to do:

"But that don't mean they're gettin' both of us. Listen up - when they open the door, I'm gonna go for 'em. I'll gonna tear out their goddamn throats with my teeth if I have to. You just get out and run. You hear me?"

"Dude - that's your plan? _Forget_ it. If we try anything tied up like this, all they're gonna do is shoot me in the back of the head and you in the front."

"Don't argue with me, Mikey. Do it." Raphael hissed, "Or we'll both be dead."

Raphael could hear Michelangelo shaking his head against the raised slashes on on the steel paneling.

"Why not buy us some time in the meantime? I mean, if they take us to some kind of holding cell… at least we have more time ta figure things out."

"Try again, little brother. Our best chance of gettin' out is now. Soon as we get on their turf, we're up shit creek without damn paddle. You know it. I know it. Let's not play pretend on that point."

"But maybe Donnie or Leo-"

"Have no idea where the hell we are."

Raphael relaxed back onto the floor, feeling warm blood pool around his leg. Thinking of how to get out of this jam. But thinking never was his strong suit. Maybe if Leo was here he could use those famous plan making skills of his. But he wasn't Leo. And this wasn't training.

He heard Michelangelo roll toward him.

"Raph, I'm gonna get us out of this."

"Huh?"

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried in vain to ignore the agony that likened to a molten pitchfork being rammed through his leg. He shifted it ever so slightly, trying to take the pressure off. It only hurt worse. Whatever Michelangelo had in store couldn't come soon enough.

"I said I'm gonna get us out of this. Remember that prank ya pulled on me when I was fourteen? Ever wonder how I got outta those cuffs so fast?"

"Figured Leo went soft on ya." he answered tightly.

The truck shuddered as they hit a rough patch of road. Raphael hissed and arched his head back to rest on the floor. For a more than a moment he thought the agony would take him right there and then, and maybe it did. How could he know for certain? Who knew if the other place he was bound for held no pain? Michelangelo's voice broke the hope.

"Leo? Soft? Are we talking about the same Leo? No. It's called self-preservation, dude. Ya gonna thank me for my Houdini phase."

"Are you sayin' you can get outta these cuffs? What the fuck are we still lyin' here for?"

"Well. Funny thing, that. I've got nothing to pick them."

And therein lay the crutch. When Michelangelo had been training himself to break out of handcuffs he had always been _anticipating_ having to break himself out of handcuffs. Back then he had always kept a bent paperclip jammed up between the layers of his wraps. When the pranks evolved he had eventually phased the habit out. Tonight the last thing they had been expecting was to be hauled off like pigs to the slaughter.

"Whatchya need?"

"These handcuffs are strong but not primo. I don't think they were planning on bagging a coupla mutants tonight-"

"No shit."

"- I think I can get 'em off. A paperclip. Or something like a paperclip. I can do it."

"Sure. Let's get our pals up front ta swing by Office Depo."

Michelangelo ignored the remark,

"I don't know if ya got anything near ya that's like it? A piece of wire or anything…."

"Gee whiz. Kinda tied up right now."

"I know… but feel around you, bro. Anything. It might be our only shot."

Raphael breathed in slowly, trying to subdue the rising pain before moving. He bent back as far as the chains would allow, feeling around in the slickness of his blood for something they could use to get free. He stopped as a fresh round of boiling heat snaked up his leg.

" _Argh_ -"

"Okay, you relax, Raph. I'm gonna wriggle over there and see if I can feel anything, 'kay?"

"Wait." Raphael said between pants, "You said I was near the detonation?"

Michelangelo nodded, but realizing he couldn't be seen, spoke instead.

"Yeah."

"I think…" Raphael took a deep breath, "My leg. I think I got slugged with some 'a the shrapnel. Near the knee."

In the following quiet Raphael could almost hear his brother's alarm. Mikey. Worried. The things almost didn't belong together.

"I'm alright, Mikey." he lied, "Just hurry and find somethin' ta jimmy the lock".

Donatello or Leonardo may not have been around, but Raphael was smart enough to know one thing: they couldn't afford to waste time on things that were out of their control. What was done was done. Time to call or fold.

"Alrighty, then…" Michelangelo echoed shakily, "I'm just gonna feel around ya first, bro. See if there's anything there. Now, don't you be going anywhere."

Raphael scoffed and heard Michelangelo worm his way over by rocking his body to and fro, before patting the ground behind him.

"Man, if only my shell wasn't so big I'd be able to move my hands more… I can barely see a thing in here…"

"If only we weren't tied up." Raphael countered snarkily, "If only the timer didn't fuck up."

More pats against the ground. Michelangelo winced as the amount of wetness he felt there. Blood. There was no mistaking it. A lot of blood. And nothing else.

"I'm not getting anything on the ground… I'm going ta feel on your leg, see if there's anything." Michelangelo said, breaking the new development, "which one is ah… got hurt?"

"Left. Knee down."

"'kay. Are you ready?"

The road whirred in the silence. Raphael inhaled deep and fast, bracing himself for the agony.

"Yeah. Do it."

The pain Raphael had felt earlier was nothing compared to when Michelangelo began to prod against his ripped open leg. He stifled a scream, clamping down so hard on his lips he drew blood.

 _"_ _Fuuuuck…."_

Michelangelo tutted quietly to himself, unable to distinguish anything useful in the dark,

"Ahhh..." he released a thin hiss, "I am so sorry, bro."

" _Just hurry_."

Michelangelo's fingers traced further down. Sweat beaded his brow as it came to him how much hinged on finding something. The finest scrap of torn engine or bomb casing. The thinnest sliver of metal. Anything.

Then he felt it. A nub of metal. An inch of it protruded from charred flesh. He knew it was deep. It wouldn't come away easy.

"I-I think I got something!" Michelangelo stuttered out in surprise, "It's going ta hurt."

"DO IT!"

With a reluctant breath, Michelangelo pinched it between his fingers and pulled forward. It slipped from his brother in a sickening slick sound. Even covered in blood and gore, he knew the shape of it was perfect.

Raphael screamed. It amplified in the small box-like space. Voices from the front infiltrated the rear. They knew they had come to.

"Hurry it up, Mikey!"

"I'm going, I'm going…"

Michelangelo doubled over the fine piece of wire and kinked the end before thrusting it into the small keyhole at his wrists. He was pouring sweat, now - just as the truck was drawing to a halt.

But the pick wouldn't catch.

"We're still on the freeway." Raphael ground out, "They're stoppin' in the emergency lane ta check on our asses. So _move_ it."

This time Michelangelo did not warrant the redundancy of nodding in the dark. He inserted the makeshift pick and flicked it up into the lock mechanism with a silent prayer on his mouth.

 _Click._

" _HolyshitIgotit_."

Within seconds he had his left hand free. He twisted out the ache. A few seconds more and then the right. Raphael heard him drop the cuffs as the truck ground to a halt.

"You can thank you guys pranking my butt for six months straight for that little trick."

Another click. And another. Their feet were out. One more and Raphael's hands were free. He got into a sitting position with a hissing groan as the pain in his mangled leg fired up.

"Keep still, bro."

He felt Michelangelo hold his leg steady. The tiniest beam of nightlight slipped in through a slotted window embedded in the truck's side. He could just make out Michelangelo assessing the damage.

"Wh-whatchya doin'?"

"Take it easy, bro. I'm wrapping my mask around your leg. Ya losin' too much mana. Count to three."

Rapahel screwed his eyes tight-

" _One_. _Tw-_ "

Without further warning, Michelangelo pulled tight on the knot that held his leg together.

" _ARGH!_ "

"S'okay, Raphie. All done."

The cheeriness in his voice belied the note of concern. Raphael knew his brother well enough not to miss it. From outside the van one heavy set of footsteps tracked towards the rear. They heard a gun cock. And perhaps something else in the hesitation of the steps… fear?

"They're comin, Mikey'."

"A-huh."

A twinge of self-contempt fell over Raphael. At present he was nothing but a burden. He was weaponless. Immobile. Helpless.

"I can barely move…" he ground out heavily.

"Don't sweat it. I got this one."

Raphael's neck burned with shame. Grateful for the dark. He heard his brother scoop the cuffs off the floor and swing them upward. They jangled softly before falling silent as he recaptured the swinging end.

"Hm. Might have ta do." Michelangelo whispered.

"Do what ya gotta do, bro. Make 'em pay."

"You bet."

"An' Mikey…" Raphael choked as gratitude welled and fumbled in his mouth, "No matter how this goes down, I- I, uh…"

Michelangelo didn't need the cheat sheet.

"Back at ya, bro."

There was a sliding of a bolt on the rear of the truck. They both fell silent. For a fraction of a second, anyway.

"Hey, Raph." Michelangelo muttered under his breath, "Wanna know what happens when ya cross a turtle with a dragon?"

Raphael could practically see his brother smirking.

"Ask me in about twenty seconds."

 _Bah dum tish!_

Raphael let out a small chuckle. What else could he do? Besides, the odds had already swung back well in their favor.

* * *

"I still can't believe we got outta that one alive." Raphael said quietly, "Outta all the scrapes we had, that's gotta be one of the closest. And we were ridin' high on that win for a long time, fucked up leg 'n all, 'cause tell me, Mikey. What _does_ happen when you cross a turtle with a dragon? No, wait. Lemme tell ya: three raids; two officers convicted of corruption; all after one big tip-off to the cops. Turtle destruction."


	17. Blinded Cobra

17\. BLINDED COBRA

"Hello?"

April's voice echoed in the still lair. She turned on the spot, the expansive living area devoid of all life - save the bacterial colonies festering on the dishes stacked high in the sink.

Even for a bunch of ninjas, it was way too quiet.

A faint blipping sound came from the far side of the room as a medieval video-game character met his gory fate.

"Guys?"

Despite the lack of invitation, she began to navigate through the scattering of their existence towards the kitchen– dodging a well-worn hand weight; sweeping past a distended scale model of the Millennium Falcon; side-stepping a repaired _bokken_ that had been propped against the wall to dry; and finally making it to the unusually bare kitchen table where she dumped her bag and keys. It had only been two days since she'd been here last, and what a difference it was. At night, the Lair seemed to bustle, breathed into life by their energy. During the day, it slept. Sound _less_ ly, apparently.

"Hello? Is anybody here?" she gripped her container tighter, listening. Nothing. A puzzled knot formed between her eyes: "So much for a security system."

In the distance she heard the faint sound of a toilet flush. Then, from the hallway leading to the sleeping quarters, an unmistakable voice erupted:

"Hello! Tell me ya hittin' me up with some payment, Apes! I'm _starving_ …"

"Mikey! I was beginning to think I stepped into an alternate universe."

"Heh. Don't jinx it… But hey! Where you _been_ , girl?"

He dissolved their distance before lifting her from the ground in a swoop and a twirl. Anything loose – her hair, her necklace, her shoelaces – went flying. It was so effortless it shocked her.

"Mikey!" she squealed as she shook her container in protest, "Careful! I have it here! Give me some earth!"

He placed her down with a victorious chuckle: "Hey - didn't I tell you I'd get the furthest without falling asleep."

"I'd figured you out for the count by the second episode. How wrong was I?"

Michelangelo's easy grin was beset with a tad of cunning.

"Confession time: Splinter totally got me hooked on the show when it first aired. I was already the winner before the first episode of the marathon even began. Squib, meet the Magician. You didn't stand a chance."

"Fitting choice of words." She shoved the package into his arms. "Here. Pizza gyoza made from scratch. Half are yours, and the other half is for everyone else. Take it before I take it back."

Unable to contain himself, Michelangelo pried the lid open and shoved the closest morsel into his mouth. Pizza gyoza. Perfection.

"These are freakin' awesome." He proffered her a sample which she politely declined. He tossed it into his mouth instead. "Mmm, mmm, _mmm_!"

"Mikey – they're still raw."

His face screwed before he gulped it down, hard. An indifferent shrug followed.

"Taste good ta me."

"Trust me. You need to steam them. I've been experimenting with this recipe for days. I don't even think I can look at another gyoza for the next few weeks." She watched as he helped himself to another, "Make that _months_."

"Mmm mmm MMM! Your loss, sis. I'm saving these for later." He placed the remainder of his prize on the kitchen table and sealed the lid tight, "You hangin' round for the Chucky marathon? _'Have I got a rubber? Look at me Tiff, I'm all rubber!'_

Michelangelo guffawed, instantly revoking the quiet; and in that moment April decided that the lair seemed normal again. Light and airier. Banished of the weird emptiness.

"Gee, I'd love to but I have to go back and attack my mountain of laundry." she lied sweetly, "I still can't believe you made it further in than me. Who'd have figured a mutant turtle would love an early twentieth century English drama? Listen to me - what am I saying? You just called me a squib five seconds ago" Her gaze settled on a jumbled ream of technical notes Donatello had left stacked up on a side-table. "So, where is everyone?"

"D's in his lab. What did he say earlier, again? Oh yeah: something, something, if anyone calls, come and get me 'cause I've got earmuffs on." He reached into his _obi_ and took out his shell-cell, quickly tapping into it before slipping it back. "Don't worry, 'cause those things will be off his head faster than the speed of light when he knows, uh… there's _company_."

April was surprised to feel her cheeks warming.

"Oh. I didn't just mean Donnie, I mean… a-and the others?"

Michelangelo shrugged, "Well, most importantly: _I'm_ here. Sensei's down at his garden. Leonardo's sleeping off a late night… if you can believe it; and Raphael is somewhere on the planet. My bets are on Casey."

April's head dropped.

"Oh. That's where Casey was last night."

The aside snagged. April practically heard the record scratch.

"Wai-wait. Last night?"

April shifted uneasily, hugging her denim jacket close to her body.

"He said he was going to try and make it around for dinner. I guess getting drunk was more appealing to him."

"Hold up - are you telling me Casey left you hanging so he could go on a date with my bro? Haha, what a bonehead." At her obvious dismay, Michelangelo back-pedaled full force: "I mean, April… hey, I'm sure they were doing something _important like... uh... filing their taxes_ for instance!"

"No, Mikey." She walked the few steps to the sofa plopped down with a sigh, "I think you had it right the first time."

"Bonehead?"

"Yup."

Not to her surprise, Michelangelo joined her. It was the method that threw her off - normally he would have jumped over the backrest and launched anyone sitting a foot into the air. Today he merely sat. April wondered distantly if his new spate of manners was the effect of watching Victorian era manners in Downton Abbey for fourteen hours straight - or if he had actually tamped down his hyperactivity over the years. The thought disappeared with the appearance his cheery grin.

"Hey," he said as his clear eyes met hers, "If it makes you feel any better, Raph's been blowing me off, too. We had plans ta do stuff last night, then at the last second he decides he wants ta go all vigilante with Case. It blows, I know. I mean, we were going big-time on a prank. You woulda loved it. Picture it: we were going mix up the labels on all of Donnie's chemicals."

April's eyes spooled in horror.

"Mikey, that is unbelievably dangerous – you could really hurt him!"

"Heh… _really_?"

April paused. He was kidding. Of course he was kidding. Michelangelo may have come off as a little silly at times, but he was far from stupid. She shook her head with a grin.

"I don't know why I believe anything you say, sometimes."

"Because I'm adorable."

April rolled her eyes before reaching into her pocket to grab a stick of gum. She was all too aware of this burgeoning vice: grinding her teeth with the assistance of Extra. It was almost funny how any mention of Casey usually instigated it. She tossed Michelangelo a piece without asking and they both set to chewing.

"Minty fresh." he grinned with a clack of his teeth.

"So," she said after jaw was malleable once again, "What _were_ you going to do, then?"

"Swear not to let Klunk outta the bag?"

April inhaled sharply, considering the repercussions of the verbal contract. Curiosity won out:

"Your secret's safe with me."

"Goody," he clapped his hands and rubbed them together, "It's been hurting keeping this one in. Okay, so Raph and I were down at an empty factory last week and found a whole lotta dumped aluminum foil. And I got ta thinking- recycling is good, right? So, what better use than to wrap than _every single thing_ in Donnie's lab?"

"Derivative."

"But wait – there's more! We're also going ta cover his floor and paint stars all over his walls in glowing paint. Yep, you heard right: we're sending our first turtle to the _moon_." He wiped away an imaginary tear, "Dreams really can come true."

"And how, precisely, were you going to get him out of the lab that long?"

"Well, that's where you come in…"

April dismissed the implication.

"If this was meant to happen last night then Casey would, no _should_ , have been over…" she thought aloud, "Donnie wouldn't have stayed. Hmph. Who am I kidding? Casey would have gone with or without Raph." She drummed her fingers on the back of the sofa, her mind a million miles away. She returned with a chuckle, "That's genius, Mikey. I don't think he'd even be in a rush to change it back."

"I think that's my favorite part."

April snorted, before setting her face back to neutral. Wasn't Michelangelo always trying to stir up trouble? Probably, if anything, he was bored mindless. He certainly had more spare time than tires these days, especially with his errant brother off forging his own identity. Not that Michelangelo had been lacking in making a path of his own. Friends. A girlfriend, even? Possibly. That particular thing had a question mark over it in the Hamato household, and Mikey had been unusually coy about the missing hours away from the Lair.

"So... Raph's been abandoning you, too, huh?"

"April, your fiancé has totally stolen my brother."

"Yeah," she repeated softly, "Fiancé."

Michelangelo did not miss the layers in that one word and pounced on it like a cheetah. He took her hand.

"Forget Casey. Forget Raph. Have my beautiful turtle babies instead…" In the background, steady footsteps veered from the laboratory. Michelangelo swung his attention to the new person in the room, "Or, y'know, Donnie's…"

Catching the last bit of the conversation, Donatello froze. A brief moment of panic unleashed itself when he doubted he would ever be able to face his human friend again. Only the sound of his name on her voice thawed him.

"Donnie!"

"Uh… hey, April!" he greeted with a small wave, "Don't listen to my idiotic brother!"

"Whoa, idiotic? That's a little rough, bro."

Donatello pointedly ignored the remark. Noticing some charcoal-colored filth on his hands, he reached down and wiped his lab coat, smearing it all the way to the pockets.

"Whoops – sorry. I was, uh, just modifying the casing for the spectrometer. I figured combining a prism lens and CCD might verify a higher percentile of accuracy for the samples we collected beneath Stockman Electronics…but, uh, yeah…" He gave a nervous cough before continuing, "Anyway… how's things?"

April's face brightened, "Great! I brought over something to eat if you're hungry. Mikey mentioned earlier you were working non-stop."

"You read my mind, I haven't eaten in, uh…"

"Days." Michelangelo supplied tacitly.

"Days?!" Donatello started at the news before stroking his chin, "I could have sworn I had breakfast."

"Nope. That was yesterday, bro - green eggs and ham, the house special. The secret is love." Michelangelo swung back to April and winked, "And moldy ham."

But then something else caught her attention.

"Um… Don?"

April rose to a kneel on the sofa and motioned him over. Donatello snapped out of whatever temporal backtracking was going on upstairs and stepped closer.

"W-what is it?"

She beckoned him closer.

"A little more."

April gave an nod as he came closer, unable to help but smell engine oil and metal and cool, sweet earth. Something so different to garlic or pepperoni or whiskey or disappointment. Something, if she dared to admit it, she did not know if she could forgo at all.

"You have, some, uh…" she reached towards his face, rubbing her thumb along his chin.

"Metal shavings." he said again with a cringe.

April nodded with a soft smile. One she knew was sure to put him at ease. She had known him for years, could talk the hell out of any program or piece of machinery on earth, even, but still he maintained a sweet shyness around her

"Don't worry about it." She clapped her hands down on Donatello's broad shoulders, "Now, _eat_ something before I hook you up to an IV."

A faint smile came across Donatello's face. It was a rare thing to see these days. Rarer than a turtle with a beard.

"Well, I certainly know better than to argue with you."

To their side, Michelangelo pretended to ignore them as he was gleefully noticed their exchange. Physical contact? Achievement unlocked. But then something else pinged on his radar.

"Oh, man. They're back."

At first April was mystified at his meaning, until the unmistakable whir of the entrance gears began. Surprised, she and Donatello parted as Raphael stepped over the slider tracks and into the Lair alongside Casey, preempted by their boisterous voices.

"…they won't be headin' ta practice today, bud. Huh!?" Casey sniped with an elbow strike into Raph's bridge plate. Raphael stumbled sideways, clipping the doorway

"Watch it, Lamebrain. My shell ain't as strong as it used ta be since I cracked it down by Antonio's."

Raphael looked up, noticing for the first time the strange configuration of people in the living room - just in time to see April releasing Donatello. _Michelangelo_. He knew he was behind it. He passed it off, knowing Casey had missed it.

"Uh… hey. Whassup?" he sniffed at the air. Pizza. Sort of. He swiveled around for the source, honing in on the dining table as the first rumbling in his stomach awoke.

He patted his plastron, "Food?"

"Something like that."

Upon hearing April, Casey paled. He straightened up, hockey mask in hand, with a shit-eating grin virtuous enough to append to the Stations of Christ. But April wasn't having it.

"Babe, whachya doin' here? I was, ah-"

"Keeping the streets clean of rogue pucks?"

Her tone was colder than the waters of the Antarctic and filled with twice as many icebergs. Six foot four or not, Casey squirmed.

"Oh. Ah… Did ya come here lookin' for me?"

"I came here of my own accord, Casey Jones. I have a life outside of you, you know. And it's a good thing too, otherwise I'd still be waiting for you to turn up on my doorstep."

"Ho, boy." Raphael grumbled under his breath.

"And lucky I didn't, I can see."

Then, from the sideline: "You iss _iinn troouble._ "

Casey threw himself across the sofa and pinned April beneath him on the threadbare seat cushions.

"Forgive me, willya? I was outta credit on m' cell and just hadda blow off some steam, 'kay?" He lifted an open hand like a peace offering as a stick slid from his hockey bag and clattered on the floor, "You understan'how it is with me."

"Casey! Get _off_ me!"

"I ain't lettin' you go 'til ya forgive me! Please babe, I'll do anything!"

"Ugh, I _don't_ forgive you. Just get _off_ me, you big _ox_!"

Casey's face pulled long with genuine remorse, but his bulk did not budge.

"Just three little words: _I forgive ya, Casey_ … and ya free!"

"That's four words, you idiot!"

As their argument had unfolded, Michelangelo could sense the roiling boil beneath his studious brother's surface. It was if Donatello were locked in place, desperately wanting to intervene, but held back by invisible binds. For Michelangelo, it was a no-brainer, really. He gave an exaggerated yawn, delivering Casey a covert shove in the ribs. With what seemed like minimal effort, Casey went flying.

"My bruises!" he moaned, clutching his sides, "Oh sweet fuckin' lord, ya got me right in my cracked rib!"

"Oops, I did?" Michelangelo asked sweetly, "My bad."

Free from Casey's hold, April rolled to her feet a disheveled mess of bangs and sleeves, only to round on Raphael.

"You know, I expected this from Casey…. but _you_ … your brother deserves better."

Raphael blanched.

"Me? What did I do?"

April's mouth formed a tight line, "It's called: ' _Not Flaking Out On Your Plans'_."

The reminder crawled under Raphael's skin like a bad bite.

"Shit." he muttered. "The prank."

Donatello's interest snagged anew: "Prank? What prank?"

Michelangelo forced chuckle broke the awkward silence: " _Ah ha ha_... nuthin' D. Forget about it. No, really. Forget it."

"When you say forget it, you know I'm going to do the exact opposite."

"Uh… remember it, then?"

"No, STOP IT." April yelled into the waning side track. They all fell silent. "Casey, I'm just…"

Her shoulders dropped. Disappointment threaded through her voice like silver. With a toss of her head, she stepped over where he lay writhing in fetal position on the floor. Sensing something deeper in her hurt, Casey's moans fell silent.

"April?"

The defeat in her face scared him more than her infamous temper.

"I'm sorry, guys. I've to go. Mikey, Raph, Donnie…" she lingered on Donatello's face, and she gestured to the container , "Please eat. Don't make my gyoza experimentation be for nothing." Her tone hairpinned and frosted: "And as for you Casey Jones, you best keep away from me if you know what's good for you."

She scooped up her bag and keys and made a beeline for the exit.

"April? _Babe!_ "

In a flash of overdue clarity, Casey scrambled to his feet and took after her. The thuds of his footsteps punctuated only by the whir and click of the entrance. The lair was fell into an uncanny quiet once again.

"Well…" Michelangelo said to no-one in particular, "That was awkward."

Donatello dragged his hand down his face, the worry more than evident. Little perturbed his even temperament save April. And just about everyone knew it.

"You think she will be alright?"

Michelangelo nodded, "Yeah, D. April's finally coming around."

"Hm?" he asked distantly, his eyes still lingering on the door, "To what?"

Michelangelo paused, his mission to push April and Donatello closer all but foiled:

"Um… y'know." He said at last, "That the moon landing was faked?"

"Mm." Donatello answered, although to what he was agreeing to was anyone's guess. He turned on his heel and headed back to the workshop. Within less than a minute, the sound of the metal saw fired up.

Raphael grimaced, "Turn it down, Donnie!"

"It's no use." He pointed to his ear canals, "Earmuffs."

"Frickin' g _reat_. Just what I need." He pinched between his eyes, pacing, thinking, before speaking what was sitting at the forefront of his troubles, "An' what the hell did ya think you were doin'?"

"Ya going to have to narrow it down."

"April and Donnie? What the hell was that?"

Michelangelo sighed.

"Relax, willya?

" _Relax?_ What in the hell are you playin' at, Mikey. Do you think yer helpin' him?"

"Lay down the ammo, bro. I'm just an innocent bystander."

Raphael began pacing, the corners of his mouth dragged down by invisible hooks.

"Yeah, right. And the moon comment was just a coincidence. Ya really think someone like that's gonna happen? Huh? April's-"

"Donnie's cake." Michelangelo muttered.

" _What_?"

Michelangelo merely shook his head in refute.

"You got it wrong, bro. I know you do."

"No, I don't have it wrong, Mikey. All ya doin' is makin' it hurt ten times more than it needs ta."

"What if I'm right?"

"No, Mikey. What if yer _wrong_? What do ya think that's gonna do ta Donnie?"

"You're meant to be on his side, Raph. _Our_ side. Remember?"

Raphael gave an indignant toss of his head. Since when did he become the reasonable turtle?

"An' what? You think I'm not? Is that what ya think? Fuckin' Christ, Mikey. Use yer head. Yer givin' him false hope, and yer givin' yourself false hope. We are mutant turtles, Mikey. Literally _mutants_. And no girl, not even April, is ever gonna see past that. Get that through yer thick skull."

A light went off in Michelangelo's head, "This is not just about Donnie, is it?"

"What?" Raphael hissed, "What the hell would you know?"

"Hey, I might not be Donnie, but I know plenty."

"Sure." He growled around the long buzzing quivers of the metal saw, "L'il ol' Mikey knows the ways of the world, an' all of us better take a seat and listen."

"I know that a girl didn't run away from me."

Raphael's forced a blink, not quite comprehending what he was hearing. Michelangelo continued:

"In fact, she did the complete opposite of run away from me."

Raphael almost vomited out the disbelief that lodged in his throat.

"W- _what_?"

"I said: A girl. And Me. L'il ol' Mikey."

The meaning hit Raphael like a slug.

"Yer lyin'" he snarled, unable to accept any other truth but that. How many times had Michelangelo thrown a spanner into an argument to derail the point? How could this _not_ be the million and fourth occasion?

"I might I mess with you all the time, bro. But, I'm not lying."

Fury clouded Raphael's face.

"Cram it, Mikey, or so help me God-"

"I don't get it?! Why are you freaking out? Is it because it's _me_? Or is it because there is a slight possibility that what you've been thinking all this time could be wrong?"

It wasn't malicious. It wasn't cruel. He'd been called out. And it hit. Hard.

Raphael didn't wait for the comeback, lunging at his brother with a right hook. But Michelangelo dodged left, easily avoiding it.

"Quit it, Raph. There's nothing ta get worked up about."

Again, Raphael swung.

"Shut _yer face_!"

Again, Michelangelo swung away.

"You know, Raph." he shouted, "I never thought I'd see it. I'd never thought I'd see the day you were scared."

The point hit Raphael's sore spot like an axe. Without thinking he drew his right sai, gripping it so tightly his knuckles paled.

"TAKE IT BACK!"

Raphael charged towards his brother, but this time Michelangelo was not quick enough. As they tumbled to the ground the words of Splinter rang in his ear: _Even a blinded cobra will land a strike_. Raphael had him pinned in an instant and raised his sai.

" _Raph_ – _don't!_ "

" _RAPH! STOP IT!"_ Leonardo's voice broke into the commotion.

Raphael felt his arms locked back, the sai point just shy of Michelangelo's chest. Beneath him, Michelangelo scrambled free, never before so glad to see their savior of a leader. His weapon fell with a clang to the ground. But it was too late.

"Mikey! I-I didn't mean ta…"

The apology withered on his tongue. A second later and he felt himself being hurled across the room.

"What in the hell were you _thinking_?!" Leonardo demanded with a snarl, before rising to his feet to inspect their youngest brother.

"Mikey, are you okay?"

Michelangelo could only offer a hasty nod.

"Yeah." came his shaky reply, "Yeah, bro. I'm good."

Furious, Leonardo swiveled back to Raphael:

"What in the hell is wrong with you, Raphael? You could have _killed_ him!"

Raphael's mouth fell limp as all the fight in him deflated, leaving only a burning shame behind. He trembled, unable to believe what atrocious act he had almost committed – nay – _would_ have committed, if Leonardo hadn't stepped in first. His haunted stare fell to Michelangelo.

"Mikey… I… I…"

 _I'm sorry…_

The whine of the saw from the laboratory broke his pause. Michelangelo flinched. One long snarl of metal on metal. Raphael choked. Unable to say the one thing that mattered, he got to his feet and ran.

…

Raphael didn't even hear him coming. All those years of training, and he was falling victim to it once more.

"Duuude. I knew I'd find you here."

His insides turned cold. The last person on Earth he had expected to see.

"Mikey." he croaked, dropping his face into his hands.

The light patter of his feet was soon beside him. There was a few seconds of silence as his brother hopped up into the alcove and settled beside him in the grey twilight.

"Man, this place brings back memories. Gotta be one of the first places I remember outside of the Lair. Was it this tunnel where we first followed Splinter when we were kids?"

"Two over."

"That's crazy. Feels like only yesterday. Kinda funny how all these tunnels burn in ya memory like faces."

"Mm." he grunted at long last, pretending as best as he could like he hadn't almost shanked his brother only four hours ago, "Man, we were little shits back then. Don't know how Splinter didn't toss us out on our shells half 'a the time."

He took a deep breath. Time was strange beast, indeed. A memory could be a thousand years old but you could still feel its hot breath breathing down your neck. This one would dog him until the end of days.

"So. How'ja find me."

The question was more of a demand, something Raphael knew he had no right to be making. But old habits died hard.

"Heh. Had a feeling. One of the places I know you always go."

"Ya always knew, huh? " Raphael stared into the distance, his illusion of solace over the years shattered in an instant, "Great."

"Well, it's not too hard with the trackers in the T-cells, ya know?"

Raphael chuckled bitterly, "Figures."

"Only if it was a _really_ long time and ya needed back-up, dude. Nothing else."

Michelangelo fell silent. Raphael realized he was waiting. Not for an apology. But for him to say something. Anything. To set them both back on the path of being okay. But the real head-fuck here was that it should have been himself seeking forgivenes, not the other way around. This hurt way worse. He didn't deserve anything less.

"You probably saw me head over toward Brooklyn a lot when we were younger. Whenever it felt we're livin' on top'a each other, I'd head out and sit under the streets out there. There was one corner I used ta hang by, off'a the mains by the red light district before it became the hipster playground. You ever see that place on your tracker?"

"No... it must've been before Donnie had the trackers installed."

Raphael gave a minute nod and continued. A little piece of his privacy had been restored before he offered it back up.

"There used ta be a grifter up there playin' three card monte. Made a killin'. I'd just sit back and listen to the con: _'Follow the red lady, gents. Twenty on the Queen an' double yer money_.'. The amount of people he and his stooge shook down was somethin' to behold. Later on I found a spot where I could watch without bein' seen. Man, that was fuckin' bliss. I'd just stay there fer hours watchin' those guys rob suckers blind. Sometimes the cops swung by and they had ta hightail it out. But every now and then a dirty cop'd lay down a fifty on the queen an' _triple_ it before goin' on his merry way. Made me realize that not everythin' up there is what it seems. Christ. I'd listen to 'em for hours. The rhythm of the hustle. I figured they were smart, and I wanted to be just like 'em. Able to dress down a mark on site, take 'im for what their worth before they did the same to me. Guess I got my wish." Raphael dragged his hands over his face, finally facing what he thought he could never do. His body shook. "Christ. I'm so sorry, Mikey. I'm a complete fuck-up."

Michelangelo straightened up and shook his head.

"Bro. If I know one thing, it's that ya gonna be a lot harder on yourself than I ever could. And," he sheepishly cleared his throat, "ah… maybe you were right. Maybe I shouldn't go interfering like that… it's just that Case is…. how do I put this? No, I'm not gonna say it. And Donnie and April, they're like-" He held his hands up at an even height and meshed them easily together, "You see that too, right?"

Raphael released a shuddering sigh and dropped his head into his hands.

"Christ, don't remind me. The only thing keepin' Casey in check is that he has no fuckin' idea."

"To be fair, I don't think Donnie and April do either."

"You got your crew now." Raphael said quietly, "What do you care so much what they all do? Ain't ya got enough ta keep yourself busy yet?"

Michelangelo shrugged, a little taken aback.

"I dunno. It doesn't have to be one or the other, y'know? And, believe or not, I'm not just doing it ta mess with Casey."

Raphael could accept that much.

"Yer wrong about Case. I know what yer think of him. I know, cause I think it, too: He's crazy. I'm crazy. We're crazy squared." he stopped to give a heavy sigh as a piece of his mask fell away, "But fer all he's got livin' topside he hasn't had the easiest ride in life. Learned a lot 'bout how ta use his fists from his scumbag of a dad." He turned to face Michelangelo's unusually solemn expression, "You wanna know what happened last night? I mean, normally we're just scarin' off the kids from the small time shit. But last night was different. Before we met up, he saw some woman down by a club from bein' beat up bad. I mean real bad, Mikey. Case tagged in and fucked two of 'em up so bad I'm not sure if one of 'em will walk again. By the time I got there he got the fight outta him, so we headed down to the docks and spent the rest of the night drinking. Had a hell of a hangover today to pay for it. Point is, he's always tryin' ta look out fer people that can't defend 'emselves, because once upon a time, no-one did it for him. And I get that. I do. He's tryin' ta right a wrong. Pay it forward. 'Cause that's easy fer him ta understand. An' I know ya don't think it, but in he loves April in his own way. But for him – havin' someone like April – that ain't easy ta live up to."

"Wow, man. I had no idea." Michelangelo said into the space left after his brother's jettison. He stared at the fine gravel tilled into gradated patterns by the infrequent storms. Something ugly made into something beautiful. And now knew for certain that it was not just Casey that Raphael was referring to. And not just him, either.

"Yeah, well. Don't get me wrong, he's still a fuckin' lunatic that forgets ta filter half the shit he does through his brain. But he ain't all bad. Maybe that's why I like hangin' 'round him. I don't have ta _think_ 'round him. When I'm fightin' out there on my own or with Case, I'm not scared of fuckin' up the way I am with you guys. And to be honest - it's a goddamn vacation."

Michelangelo gave an amiable shrug.

"It's funny you should say that, because you know we look out for you just as much as you look out for us. We got each other's backs." Michelangelo knocked his shell rim by his shoulder, "Lucky for us they're extra protected."

"Yeah." Raphael snorted. " _Lucky_."

"Yeah." Michelangelo said, both agreeing and disagreeing. There was nothing lucky about the amount of training they did. Or their situation. Or their life in general. It was what it was.

Raphael's eyes darted to the empty tunnels either side of his brother. With someone like Michelangelo around, it was easy to forget they were all alone.

A fresh wave of shame overcame him.

"I messed up, Mikey. You're s'posed ta be one of the ones I look out for." He screwed his hands up in his lap, feeling as if they had betrayed him, "I-I'm sorry… if I could take it back-"

"Bro. It's okay. I'm okay." Michelangelo said with a nod and a cheery grin, "See? Three finger, two toes, walking and talking. I'm good."

"No. It's not okay. Jesus, Mikey… I coulda really hurt ya, all because I can't keep my fuckin' temper in check," he gave a soft snort of regret "I messed up. I messed up bad and I'm gonna make it up to ya."

"Well, I do have one idea, Houston." Michelangelo leaned on the curved wall of the crumbling alcove and crossed one shin over the other. "I talked to April. She's in on it. And I reckon we could get D out of the lab long enough in the next few days."

Raphael sniffed, his haunted stare drilling into the ground.

"He does have it comin' to him, grindin' that saw of his all hours of the day."

"Apology accepted." Michelangelo's lips pulled into a wide smile over his even teeth, "Just don't go trying ta kill me again."

Raphael's face contorted into misery, "Mikey, I dunno what-"

Michelangelo cut the apology short with a raspy chuckle. Raphael fell silent and accepted the light rap as graciously as he could. After a good while he spoke.

"So. Yer really got laid, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that there was lot of laying around, big bro."

Raphael rubbed at his face with slow and quiet groan: "Jesus Christ. That was more than I needed ta know." After a pause he peeked through his fingers, "Well?"

"I'm not a kiss and tell kinda turtle."

"That'd be a first." Raphael said flatly. He tapped his fingers along the _tsuka_ of his sai. If he waited long enough, he knew his brother would give up something.

"It was nice." Michelangelo relented with a soft smile, "And I really dig her. So... that's all I'm going ta say."

"The girl from online?"

"Yep."

"What's-her-face… Rideme?"

"Actually, it's Renet."

Strangely impressed, Raphael clapped Michelangelo so hard he smacked into the tunnels edge, "Holy fuck. I can't believe it."

At that Michelangelo added:

"Pretty much, dude. Pretty much."

...


	18. Gibson's Hill

A/N: A short one to dip back into. Sorry for the extended time away. Thanks for reading.

* * *

18\. GIBSON'S HILL

Alone of near the zenith of Gibson's Hill Michelangelo wiped his hand along the grave marker, the inscribed name cradling the waning light as the day's end fast approached. It had been a good while since he had been out here last... three months, he reckoned. With the promise of a girl waiting for him back in the city, it was hard to leave sometimes. But even harder not to come. After all, three months was a long time to leave the place untended, and it had been a long day spent running some of the more menial tasks on the farm to get it back in working order: Reshingling parts of the roof damaged the previous winter. Harvesting some of the wild corn and blackberries in the overgrown garden. Reattaching the porch swing Casey had broken for the twelfth time. To satiate the hunger of the family-come-workcrew, Michelangelo had prepared over two dozen quesadillas, all which seemed to evaporate on contact with the kitchen table.

A full day. A productive day.

After a moment in silence he laid down a small a posy of field dandelions, its simple beauty something he knew his master would have appreciated.

"So..." he began at last, the carefree word weighted with a thousand troubles and dreams, "Thought I'd stop by and see how you were, Sensei. We cleaned up your gravesite when we arrived a few days ago. Donnie fixed some of the drainage so it doesn't flood in this little dip by your grave and Raph got a new incense holder and ya favorite incense. When April lit it, for a quick second I thought I was back in the lair, getting in trouble for setting fire to the kitchen or something. It's bizarre how smell can do that, right? Transport you in time? Believe me, I went all the way back to the lair awaiting my prescription for the _hashi."_

He gave a soft chuckle.

"Leo also planted this Japanese maple sapling here so that one day it will grow big and give you shade in the summer. Being on top of this hill you might need it, 'cause it gets stinking hot up here sometimes. And don't worry - I was here too. Weeding like a pro. I'd show you the callouses ta prove it but you could hardly tell for what was there already from all the, y'know, _training_ Leo's been forcing on us. And so now it's shiny and new up here as if it hasn't already been two years...

Wow...

 _Two_ years. That can't be right."

He swallowed hard, and squinted across to earth's closest star, blazing at the edge of the horizon.

"Leo was right about the sunrises- but here the other side of the hill, the sunsets are _amazing_. Like all freaking orange and red and purple. Real pretty. Casey said this place got its name from this crazy old-timer that lived here looking for gold over a century ago. He didn't find any... but I think he mighta been looking in the wrong place. Anyways. I hope you like it. You always did love the fresh air and the birds singing... kinda different to the sewers, right? y'know - all brown and gray and the sound of storm water flushing around. The weird thing is that I still miss it when I'm not there. I wonder if it's like that for everyone away from home?"

Only an oak tree situated further down the hill, thrumming with the bustling twitters of a hundred nesting birds, answered. Michelangelo slumped to the ground, resting up against Splinter's marker. He took the small burnt incense stub and out from the censer, crumbling it to dust between his fingers.

"I'm not sure if I told ya last time but I got another cat. Well... sort of. She's a big barn cat that lives here that's been keeping the ra...ah...big mice away from the chicken coop. I finally got her trust up enough ta let me pet her. She's not quite Klunk, but I might have another friend in the making. But apart from all that, there's something kinda big I wanted ta tell ya-"

"Mikey?"

Michelangelo jumped.

"Oh _geez_! Sneak up on a guy, why don't ya?"

"I suppose all yer ninja trainin' counted fer squat, then?" Raphael swung his gaze over to the headstone and guiltily amped down his irritation, "Am I interruptin' something?"

Michelangelo let out a small sigh and flicked the spent incense stick over the edge of the hill, "Nah. Just talking to Splinter."

Raphael blinked.

"Oh."

"Mmhm. You?"

"Comin' ta collect yer shell for dinner as a matter of fact. Your cell is off."

Michelangelo whipped the T-cell from his side and checked the signal. No bars.

"Weird. Just outta range." he reholstered the phone, "So, what's up? You coming to say hi to Splinter, too?"

"Donnie cooked."

Michelangelo tapped the headstone for luck and rocked to his feet, brushing the dirt from his rear.

"Mac and cheese?"

"You know it."

"Tell me how April hasn't already kicked his shell to the kerb."

Raphael shrugged nonchalantly: "She seems ta like it."

"She likes the D alright." Michelangelo snickered, then, remembering where he was, had the sense to look embarrassed, "... ah, _sorry_ , Sensei."

"I don't think he minds." Raphael grimaced, nice and even.

"I know, bro. It just helps. Talking to him. You should try it."

Raphael planted his feet firm into the earth: "He always was a good listener." he conceded at length, "Sometimes the only one I thought could steer me right." A moment later he added, "You really think he's listenin' now?"

Michelangelo gave a small shrug, "Sure."

The brothers fell silent a moment, feeling the absence of their master like a cold and intransigent shard in their heart. Nothing could thaw the pain. They had simply lived around it. Two years seemed both so short and so long at the same time. Two years he had been lain beneath the mountaintop. A late summer breeze rustled through the treetops and across the scattering of dead leaves on the ground. For just a moment, Raphael thought they were not quite alone.

"I really miss him." Michelangelo said as softly as the last fingers of golden light retreated from the hillside, "The cane not so much."

"We all do. But ain't nothin's going ta change what happened. We just have ta go on."

"Yeah. You're right." He stooped down and evened the earth where he'd been sitting. There was not even a body buried there. Only ash. A memory of their master.

"He was only meant ta be here for a few weeks over the winter. We never even got to the first visit. I never knew it'd be last time we saw him. Just getting a chance to say all the stuff I want ta say... and the things I never got to..."

Raphael could only watch as Michelangelo plunged his face into his hands with a defeated exhale. He fell quiet, as silent as the tomb of their master. Then, muffled by his clenching fingers, could hear him sobbing. They wracked through his body, and if Raphael hadn't know his brother better, he would have sworn he was laughing. Something rusted and ancient heaved inside Raphael's chest. If there was one sight he could not bear it was seeing his family in pain and being helpless to do anything about it.

Raphael crouched by his brother, kneading his shoulder in comfort.

"Hey," he said softly, "Mikey, it's okay... "

Michelangelo shook off the pain as best he could, clearing his throat of its tightness.

"I came up here because I wanted ta tell him that I'm in love. I'm in love with her. And I just wanted him to know. I wanted him to know and I wanted him to be happy so I could be happy. Is that stupid or what?"

The admission twisted in Raphael's gut. This was no small thing. Yet another milestone without their father.

"It's like you said, bro. He knows. He does. And now so do I. And I'm real fuckin' happy for ya, Mikey. Real happy. And I know sensei would be, too. Ya girl... she's... a handful. But she loves you, too. I can tell. So could he."

"She really is." He wiped tears away with the back of his wrist strap, "Man, I can't believe I'm doing my best Niagara impression in front of ya." He let out a deep breath, releasing something heavy from his lungs, "Could you not let the others know? It was just starting ta feel normal around here again. I don't wanna be the one that broke. I swear, I'm okay."

"It's okay if yer not." Raphael let out a gentle sigh through his nostrils, "Listen. Forget about the food. How 'bout we just stay up here until ya ready ta eat somethin'? If you think I should talk ta him, maybe I could fill Sensei in, too. A lotta shit's gone down and I think Splinter needs ta hear about it. Like - for example..." Raphael looked desperately across onto the expanse of dark woodland below, "how I actually ate a salad for the first time last week and _liked_ it."

"Dude," Michelangelo chuckled around his sniffling, "That is so freakin' lame."

"Look me in the eye 'n tell me that kale is edible."

The cicadas began to kick up around them, a whirring chorus of a summer's evening. Michelangelo straightened up. Brushed off his arms in thought. Tried to compose himself into the cheery turtle they all knew him to be.

"I haven't told her yet. Well, I mean, that I love her, sure, but... I haven't proposed yet."

Raphael face pulled down in surprise. Michelangelo shrugged.

"Yep. I am scared shelless. Kinda wanted Splinter to say: Go for it, my son. Or Be the wind, my son. Or whatever it was he told Donnie." He drilled his gaze into the Earth, "I never knew how hard it would be without him."

Raphael felt the sting of his pain. But he was about far from Splinter as night was from day. He wondered if he should say anything at all. After all, who wanted advice about love from a cynic?

"Mikey you just gotta do what's right for you. Splinter woulda wanted that."

"Ya think so?"

Raphael reached over to squeeze his shoulder.

"Abso-fuckin'-lutely."

Michelangelo shook off the nerves. Raphael saw the change come over him in an instant as he tipped his head toward the steep trail with a bright but forced smile.

"Let's go eat."

…


	19. Placeholder

19\. PLACEHOLDER

…

 _'_ _Baby, please. I'll do anything. Please-'_

 _'_ _I'm sorry, Mikey. I can't… I can't do this anymore.'_

 _…_

"Stop thinkin' about it, Mikey."

"Cann youu throw me a Coors?"

Raphael grunted in the affirmative before he dipped his hand into the cooler and plucked out a soda. He hurled the freezing can at his brother. Michelangelo made no attempt to catch it, letting it smack him in the plastron and roll to a halt beside him.

"Cann't open't."

"If you think I'm openin' it for ya, think again."

Raphael slammed the last of his own dregs down and crushed his can. This was sad. Beyond sad and all the way back to stupid. It had been months since Michelangelo had been dumped, and there had been no chink in the wallowing as of yet. If this was love, the birds could keep it. Instead he could only watch on, bemused, as Michelangelo held a hand in front of his face and stared at his fingers.

"Too many… don't work. Like my heart."

All three of his fingers dropped back onto his face.

"Mikey, ya gotta pull yerself together. We've been dealin' with ya mopin' for months. It's time ta move on."

"I'm movinnn…see?" Michelangelo reached for his drink, "Hey.. thisssisss not beer.."

"No shit. I'm cuttin' ya off."

The explanation went unheard, Michelangelo clearly adrift in his own thoughts.

"Wha… wha' d'ya think she meant? She couldn't do me or want me….what d'she mean?"

"I told ya. I told ya a thousand times. There ain't nothin' wrong with you, Mikey. It got too hard and she flaked out. An' she could done a hellava lot worse than you. You think yer not better than the two-bit fuckers Case an' I ran into last week tryin' ta jack Barney's? Gimme a break."

"The liquor store? Downnn th'street?" he gave a soft chuckle, "I couldda been y'shield. Cann't break what's a-ready brokenn. And – hey – coudd 'a got more ta drink."

Raphael pushed off the sofa and walked over to the floor in front of the single-seater where his brother was sprawled among empty packets of chips and game controllers, stuck to the ground in a shadow of his own filth.

"Jesus fucking Christ. That's it. If I hear you beat yerself up one more time I'm gonna go postal. Y'know, if Splinta were 'round he'd have yer ass in the _hashi_. Shut the hell up and drink this."

Raphael scooped the up the coke can and cracked it open and poured. Cola streamed into Michelangelo's agape mouth. He coughed and spluttered, before at last relenting to the offering. The caffeine kicked in, Michelangelo perking a little beneath his morose haze of alcohol.

"Now, get off ya shell. We're goin' fer a walk."

.

"I gotta hurl…"

Michelangelo wandered into a side tunnel, stumbling over a gravel filled bank before unleashing foamy vomit into a dark corner. After minutes of heaving and spitting he emerged, more lucid but unquestionably more ragged. Shivering, he wiped his mouth.

"Man, I hate yakking."

"Here." Raphael dislodged a can of Coke jammed into his belt strap and passed it to his brother. Some of the brightness returned to Michelangelo's face.

"Dude. I love you. Seriously."

He rinsed his mouth and spat again before taking another chug of the coke.

"Ya done?

"Gimme a sec, bro." Michelangelo stooped over, clutching his midsection plates as something rumbled violently therein. A full minute later it relented, Michelangelo for the time being winning the war of wills.

"...okay."

"You good?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Let's move."

They walked in silence along the dim network of channels, their steps slushing in the shallow trickling water. For a while Michelangelo knew where they were. Then, mired in the haze of a throbbing headache, lost track. Instead he kept an eye out on where they were in relation to topside. Past 14th. Past Delancy. Finally, Raphael approached a non-descript tunnel, crumbling along the lower rim.

"This one."

They hopped up into the channel and followed it west. The sound of water from its terminus grew louder and louder. First a whisper, and then a roar. Cooler. Darker. Michelangelo shivered. As they approached the far edge, Raphael threw his arm out.

"Wait. There's a drop here."

Michelangelo stopped dead in his tracks. Not a lot of the tunnels had a long fall off into a large storm water hold. Usually they were gated. Not always. Raphael took what looked like a suicidal step out of the tunnel, his foot landing on a twenty-four inch pipe that bridged across the immense water filled chamber. Michelangelo followed as they both eased along the pipe towards the center of the make-shift bridge. Satisfied, Raphael sat, hooking his legs across a bulky connector.

"You remember what happened here when we were kids?"

Bleary eyed, Michelangelo nodded. He crouched down and joined his brother, shuffling a little until he found his balance.

"I almost forgot about this place."

"So, ya do remember."

With a soft snort, Michelangelo answered: "This is where you jumped from, after throwing in the training katana."

"An' after that?"

Michelangelo stared past his dangling legs down into the abyss of water, swirling twenty feet below where they perched. A fine spray hurled into the air, cooling the chamber and making all the sounds echo off their slick surfaces.

"I jumped in after you. I thought you were having fun and wanted ta join in."

"I was _drownin_ ', Mikey. And you nearly drowned right along with me."

"I remember." Michelangelo sighed, feeling the melancholy ebb back with his sobriety, "But do ya blame me? I was eight. I'd never seen you scared before. Of anything."

Not scared of anything? Raphael scoffed at how long and how easily he had sold that lie.

"Yeah. Well, Donnie told me this holding tank below us is a feeder." They looked past their dangling feet to the huge cordoned off tank. bridging pipe where they perched, "Enough suction power ta jam us halfway up the one of the under water channels. Fuck knows how they woulda got us out if Splinter hadn't got us first."

Michelangelo's stomach churned, but from the smell or from the malingering remnants of the past, he could not be certain.

"Man, I was so dumb. Check that… I'm _still_ dumb." He looked back up at his brother, "Actually, isn't it kinda dumb being up here… I mean… I'm not feeling so hot."

"You're not gonna fall, Mikey. I've seen ya take worse hits to the head and stay on yer feet."

"Maybe, man." Michelangelo rubbed the heel of his hand into an eye, trying to squish the pain hovering there, "What are we even doing here? You're not going ta jump in again, I hope."

Raphael chuckled darkly.

"Not quite. I'm waitin' fer you ta jump in this time."

"Ah-" Michelangelo gave a confused twitch, "What?"

"You seem so intent on hurtin', so I figure - why not just jump in?"

"Because, dude, I'm not completely nuts, for one."

"Really, Mikey? Tell me, how long's it been now since ya girl split?"

Michelangelo looked askance, muttering under his breath.

"One hundred and four days."

"Hours?"

"Two thousand four hundred and ninety-six."

"Yer really likin' that counter app on ya T-cell, aren't ya? Should I keep goin'?"

He watched as Michelangelo fell silent a beat and rubbed his thighs, likely cold from the fine mist that reached them. If seeing himself scared was rare, then seeing his brother defeated was more so.

"Ya got me. I'm a mess." he gave a soft sigh and stared around the immense churning room, concrete surfaces slick and gleaming in the dim light, "I miss her face. I miss her smell. If I close my eyes I can still see her. But she wants nothing ta do with me. She says it's easier that way. I just don't understand what happened. Everything was great, then... poof. Nothing."

Raphael mouth set into a tight grimace. His brother was a broken shell. Broken by a woman that– as far as they could tell – had a better offer at life than tying herself to a sewer dwelling mutant. Just up and disappeared into thin air. Part of him hurt for his brother, but another more insidious part felt vindicated. Even his own shitstorm of a relationship with Mona - the rollercoaster of makeups and breakups - gave clue to it. They would never belong above.

"Do you remember _why_ I tossed that katana in?"

Michelangelo gave a miserable shake of his head, "No. But I'm betting you were probably mad about something."

"I was." A sadistic grin flirted at the edges of his mouth, "Wanna know why?"

His younger brother gave a half-hearted lift and drop of his shoulders. Raphael clenched his hands, and stared down into the moving water.

"It's stupid, lookin' back. I was havin' trouble doin' the basics after Splinter insisted we get used ta usin' all of the weapons. Damn, I hated the katana. Outta all the weapons, sometimes I think I only like the sai 'cause it can break it. So, Splinter was instructin' me ta get it right... but as you know, three fingers ain't always so convenient. There was this one move that'd screw me up. Everyday I'd pick it up a _bokken_ and try and get it. And everyday I'd drop it on my feet. Pretty sure they were blue an' green all that year. Got it now, of course. Adapted like hell. Point is, it was clear to me then that we were different." Raphael turned to his brother, "And that was bad."

"You… you really think that?"

"Used ta. For a long time. But I woke up to myself one day. _We_ weren't bad fer bein' different. _They_ were bad fer lettin' it be a problem. There ain't nothin' wrong with _us_ , Mikey, and anyone that can't see it ain't worth the time. So I stopped bein' mad at myself and instead became mad at somethin' I was s'posed ta fit in to. I figured that if I can't change it, I'd not let it own me."

Raphael withdrew his left sai and flipped the handle towards his brother.

"Here. Take it."

Michelangelo gazed down at the pronged weapon, battle-scarred but gleaming clean. Practically Raphael's baby. His hesitation was not missed.

"Don't make me ask twice, Mikey."

Michelangelo slotted it from his brother's grip. Taking advantage of the quiet, Raphael continued:

"You never were too bad on the sai, Mikey. Never were too bad at anythin' in the dojo besides meditatin'. But I was never that surprised that ya chose not ta focus on 'em."

Michelangelo did a basic sai flip in his hand, as if he had done it a million times before. Raphael smirked. Throughout their years of training, they probably had.

Michelangelo gave an apologetic shrug, "A bit slow for me."

"Just like the 'chucks are too fuckin' long-winded fer me." Raphael agreed, "But that's my point. Ya gotta know when to cut ya losses and move on. I want ya to try this: take everythin' that's on yer back, everythin' that's getting' ya down, everythin' that's bending you outta shape. Including the girl. And put it into that sai. Then when ya done: throw that fucker in."

Michelangelo's gaze flitted back down to the water. There would be no retrieving the weapon once it hit the water.

"But … don't ya want it back?"

"I want my brother back. Not the sad sack of shit that listens ta Taylor Swift at four in the mornin', every mornin'."

Michelangelo cringed at the scrupulous account.

"Dude. I... I'm trying ta work through it. It's my way of trying ta work through it…." He trailed off, his empty reasoning lost to the roar of water. Raphael didn't buy it for a second.

"Look. Either you accept you don't fit each other, or ya kill yourself tryin' to. I'm not sayin' that it goin' ta be true for everyone or everythin' in your life. But you and her… well. I don't want ta see yourself jump in after the sai, Mikey. I'm kinda used ta havin' you 'round."

"But-" Michelangelo objected again, "it's your _sai_ …"

"And?"

"I-It doesn't work like that."

Raphael sighed: "It's not about it working. It's about doin' somethin'. Listen, life is hard enough without the bullshit. Especially for us down here. You need ta do this, Mikey. Trust me, just try it."

Again, Michelangelo went quiet, twisting the sai in his had as he considered Raphael's argument. It all seemed so hollow. A band-aid to cure a broken heart. But then again, what did he have to lose… except a sai?

"Okay." he agreed softly, as if trying to convince himself, "Okay, okay, okay."

Michelangelo focussed his attention on the sai, falling quieter for longer than Raphael could ever remember. The sound of the gushing water filled the void, for months on months, into whatever this husk was left behind. Michelangelo's grip tightened. All the misery he had been hoarding, all the hurt, all the pain, began to seep up. He could almost feel it shifting through his veins, squeezing his heart and clamping down on his gut. Knuckles paled. Anything but metal would have snapped.

"Let go of it, Mikey."

With a soft cry, Michelangelo hurled the sai away from himself. It spun dizzyingly fast before plummeting down, the splash almost inaudible above the sound of gushing water.

 _"Oh... c_ _rap!"_

The cuss was followed by Michelangelo tumbling from the pipe. A second later, and he was gone.

"MIKEY!"

Raphael darted forth, heart frantically hammering as he ducked down to see if he could spot his brother in the depths below.

"I'm here!" came the reply.

 _"_ _What?!"_

Raphael carefully bent forward to inspect beneath the pipe. There Michelangelo dangled by one hand to a thinner pipe bolted along its underside. Shocked, he grunted:

"You idiot… did you _jump_?!"

"I, uh, I slipped… hehe… does this feel familiar or what?"

Relief coursed through Raphael in an instant.

"Jesus H. Christ. Hang on."

Raphael swung his top half around the curve of the pipe, jamming his remaining sai into a bracket for support. Reaching under he grabbed Michelangelo's free hand and hauled him back atop the pipe. For a second they said nothing, shocked by how close they had come to booking it, before erupting into bank of chuckles. Finally their laughter receded to be replaced with the roar of water once again. Michelangelo reclined back along the length of the pipe, slapping a hand across his eyes.

"Oh, man. Like I always say: Nothing sticks to me. Not your sai. Not my balance. Not my girl. Teflon over here, dude."

At that, Raphael gave his brother a slap on the shoulder. For the first time in one hundred and four days, his brother was finally back.

...

 _Somethin' else I never told ya, Mikey - I headed over ta Renet's place 'bout a week after you two broke if off. Was gonna talk... Hell. Who am I kiddin'? I was going over ta give her a piece of my mind. I mean, who the fuck did she think she was? But she had high-tailed it outta there. Not a trace. Not a speck. If I hadn't met her, I never would have believed she'd ever existed._

 _..._


	20. A Thousand Words

A/N: Apologies for the huge delay - I am struggling with a few things over here. The time line may be jank but please ignore it. It can all be explained away if you wish and/or insist. For now, just imagine it's all gravy. Anyway, here it is, the latest chapter. Back in familiar territory. I have a tent set up and all. Thank you so so much for following along or even just if you randomly dropped by to read this chapter. It means a lot.

Apritello ahoy.

* * *

20\. A THOUSAND WORDS

April stood by the barn door for a moment, maybe two, before releasing her breath. The light inside filtered warmly into the last of the waning day. Bugs pinged against the panes of glass. From within, the clanging of metal on metal rang into the air. Just as Michelangelo had predicted, he was still working. She decided against knocking and pushed open the door, shutting it gently behind her. There, in the middle of the floor stood Casey's truck, hoisted up on cinder blocks.

"Donnie?"

 _Thump!_

 _"_ Ouch! Ah, um... ah, yeah?" his reply filtered from beneath 3 tons of metal.

"Relax. It's just me. Thought I'd brew some fresh coffee before that instant crap gives you an ulcer."

"Really?!" His gratitude was almost palpable. "Thanks! You read my mind!"

"More like, I know your habits." April slumped down onto the stool by the workbench, popping the cap from the Thermos. "What are you doing under there, anyway? Isn't it time to take it down a notch – you know, maybe solve the meaning of life or something?"

"I wish. I'm, um - changing the brake line. It's causing some grief. Well, to be accurate, it's causing _Raph_ grief, which in turn is causing _me_ grief."

"And where there's grief, there you are to fix it, right?" she asked with an innocent tick of her brow.

"I try."

"You know," she said, "it probably wouldn't even be a problem if Casey wasn't so addicted to slamming on the brakes at the last possible second."

"Yeah." he agreed around a grunt, "It doesn't help."

Every trip to the farm meant Splinter and the brothers stockpiling in to the back of the truck. Donatello had soon modified it to contain seats with belts and even an entertainment system. But not seeing Casey at the wheel while suffering the wrath of his driving had to be unnerving.

She rolled her eyes: "He thinks it saves them or something."

Donatello merely answered with a scoff. With nothing nice to add to the subject, he had tacitly changed the topic-

"So, I'm curious - what's Mikey concocting for supper tonight?"

"Take a guess."

"Lasagna? No, wait - pizza? Ugh. Too obvious. Sushi?"

"Ding! Ding! Ding!"

"What?" he asked puzzled, "All three?"

"He's putting leftovers on the pizza. Be afraid."

"Honesty, I'm just intrigued."

She leaned forward on the stool, "I'm more intrigued about where _you_ were for supper last night"

"Who? Me?" Donatello asked innocently. He interrupted himself by hitting something unseen with his wrench.

"Yes. You."

"I just, um. I got distracted with the generator and ate some ramen later on. Nothing exciting."

April glanced over by the kettle at the far end of the work bench, where sure enough, an empty bowl sat.

"That's just sad." she said, shaking her head.

"Well. Leo was cooking, was he not?"

"Where do you think the sushi for the pizza is coming from?"

Donatello laughed a raspy and grossed-out laugh. April smiled. Donatello. Steady and constant. Reliable to a fault. And sneaky as a rat.

"Anyway," she continued, "Your company was sorely missed."

"You were too chicken to leave, weren't you?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot for NOT rescuing me."

"What? So you could eat ramen with me? Now _that's_ sad."

"Not sad." she insisted, "Preferable."

"After the stomach ache I got from the ramen? Try debateable."

She heard him pick up something else and start tapping at the underside of the truck. The sound of liquid gushed. It inspired her to do the same.

"Alright. I'm pouring. You in?"

"Hit me up, O'Neil."

She set his cup by the unrolled case of wrenches. Two were missing, and obviously, the source of all the racket. It was a process she found oddly _comforting_ , if she were being totally honest: Donatello, hard at work. The whole world could be crumbling around them, but as long as he was putting things back together, everything felt like it was going to be alright. Humming along to an invisible song, she poured the steaming black liquid neat into the lid.

"Still take sugar?"

"Actually I thought I'd try and-"

"Kick it? Too bad." she replied sweetly. For some ungodly reason he'd been weaning off creamer, finally kicking the habit after months of frowning at his mug like it had assaulted him.

"-give it another chance. Yep. That's definitely what I was planning on saying."

She placed the cup on the bench beside her, waiting for the smell to lure him out, as a deep-seeded trouble of her own surfaced. More gushing was incoming.

"Can I ask you something? You don't think we'd just stop talking, do you? Run out of things to say?"

She heard him stop what he was doing before he at long last answered: "Like Mikey and Renet?"

April nodded, "Yeah."

He paused again: "You don't _think_ that would ever happen... do you?"

"Maybe?" she fretted, "No? I... I don't know?"

The worry snagged his attention. She heard him drop his wrench before wheeling out on his creeper board in one smooth motion, gathering up his long limbs to sit on its end. His olive-green skin sheened in the humid air. He picked up a nearby rag to wipe brake fluid from his hands. April felt herself perk up as he pushed the last few inches forward on his heels, ready to both disarm and dissect.

"Something on your mind?"

She shook her head, "Not really. Just... I don't know. Maybe there's too much time to think out here."

"Miss the city, huh?"

She shrugged. Did she miss home? The bustle of life outside her doorstep? No. It was something else. A general malaise that had invaded her life. Only one person seemed to be adept at detecting the source. And she was right here talking to him.

"Not really. It's that... I feel like I'm _missing_ something. Ever get in those moods?"

"To be fair, if I ever get that feeling, it's usually because I _am_ missing something. Have you seen the To Do list out here? Yikes!"

She scoffed, knowing all too well about the never ending tasks the farm required. She'd been up helping Michelangelo make bread at six in the morning. Then helping Leonardo tend the small vegetable patch by the house. Even spent the afternoon with Raph oiling the deck. But life out here with her makeshift family was nothing short of wonderful.

"Yeah, I'm working on one all of my own. My favourite of which is to 'stop Mikey and Raph destroying the kitchen'."

"Any luck?"

With a shrug she took his coffee from the counter and sipped.

"You know. Only _one_ puncture hole in the wall needs to be spackled over. It's been a relatively quiet day. Even Mikey seems more himself."

At this information, Donatello reached over to take his coffee from her before taking a sip of his own.

"How's he doing?"

April nodded reluctantly, "He can actually get through a whole conversation now without mentioning her. He's strong. Much stronger than I give him credit for. For the longest time I just felt helpless."

A drawn out sigh slipped through Donatello's nostrils as he peered into his coffee with a frown.

"We all did. I don't know what Raph said to him, but it seems to be working."

"He still talks to Splinter, you know. On the mountain. I think it's been helping him, too."

He almost hesitated to ask: "What about you? Casey and Gabrielle?"

"That?" April said in slight shock, she took a moment to try to put in words exactly how it felt about Casey's new girlfriend."To be honest... I haven't given it much thought."

It was his turn to look surprised.

"Really?"

"Strange, right? Trust me, I was bracing myself for it to be super weird, but it's pretty great. Gabrielle's great. Casey's great. And I feel like myself again. Is that weird or what?"

"Relatively?" he asked, glancing over himself, "Not that weird."

"I guess it's true what they say," April mused, "Life is what happens when you're busy making plans."

He downed the last of his drink. For a moment April thought he wanted to say something more, but he seemed to shake off the notion with a drop of his head.

"Well, if that's not what's bothering you, I'm stumped."

April dug her fingertips into her shorts, "I'm serious, though. Do you think we could ever just stop talking like that?"

"You? Not talk? I don't think that's humanly possible."

"Ha ha."

Donatello paused for thought, placing the cup by him on the ground and wiping the last of the grease from his hands.

"Did you see the NASA images from Junocam?"

She frowned, unsure of where this was heading, "Of Jupiter's poles? Sure. They were beautiful."

"Well," he said at length, "That was supposedly a very unexpected find. And I think that - like with anything - there's always more to be discovered. You just have to be willing to look."

Skeptical , she leaned into her hand: "About everything? Even a fly? Or a grain of sand?"

"April. Entomologists and geologists literally study those things."

"Plastic coat hangers?"

"Optimum polymers in industrial design."

"Bad rom coms?"

"Aren't they all?" he laughed before adding, "How about how they keep turning a profit in the age of Netflix?"

"And me?"

April poked her tongue into the side of her cheek, waiting.

"The biggest mystery of all."

She tossed her glare to the pile of hay in the corner of the barn. A big depression at its center led her to quickly figure where he had been hiding out the last day or so.

"You should talk."

"Me? I'm as open as they come."

"Gimme a break." she said in a perfect imitation of his brother.

"Alright, go ahead. Ask me anything."

At the offer, she gnawed on her thumb as a flutter of something not quite realized stirred inside of her chest. Oh, the things she wanted to know...

"Alright then. What is something you _don't_ want me to ask?"

Donatello lifted and dropped his brow.

"You're good, O'Neil. But I'm not touching that one with a ten foot bo." At her obvious distress, he added, "But, to be clear, I'm not going to suddenly and without explanation cut communication with anyone."

"Okay then, _Junocam_ , what if you want to fly on by to the next planet? See the other sights?"

"I could spend a life time around you and not break the surface. So. There's that."

"Hmph."

"Feel better?"

"Strangely, yes."

Donatello slung his arms across his knees, his eyes crinkling in that weird joyous way when he had cracked a code or solved a puzzle.

"Okay, O'Neil. Spill before you drive me crazy."

She released a heavy breath.

"Life." she said, and realising it was a pittance of an answer, supplemented with a sigh: "I just – I had this weird dream last night."

"Care to elaborate?"

April cast him an inscrutable stare before softening. Her heart gave an unsteady thump as her mind drifted to the scene in her dream. She could recall it vividly. The starlight in the bedroom. The peaceful sound of him breathing. She could even remember the smell of the camphor. In her dream she had reached out and touched his hand, tracing the long scar that ran from his index knuckle to his wrist. A scar from when he had not lifted his bo quick enough against an enemy's sword. She could still remember his fingers curling around hers, calloused and warm.

The he had whispered to her... what was it that he had said?

 _Are you awake?_

And then she had; to a strange, lingering sadness.

"I don't really remember it," she lied, "But I haven't shaken the feeling all day."

The crease on his forehead deepened. It had become a permanent fixture in the last few years. The worry he burdened had left scars of their own.

"I hate when that happens. Sometimes a walk or activity to distract from that part of the brain helps me. I think Leo might have a book of Sudoku somewhere handy..."

"You mean, something to take my mind off it? That's why I'm here."

"How's that working out for you?" he teased, friendly enough.

"Surprisingly bad." She slapped her knees, "I'm sorry. It was just a stupid dream and I'm bothering you. I'm just gonna go-"

She made to leave, then:

"You never bother me." he said quickly.

"No, no. I should-"

"April. You never bother me."

The earnestness in his voice paused her mid-hover: "Oh? Uh – are you sure?"

A flash of embarrassment crossed his face before he dropped his shoulders back and forced a smile.

"Sure I'm sure. In fact, maybe we could help each other out. Want to hop in the truck and tap the accel-" he stopped, tipping his head towards the window, where outside the overcast skies had deepened to indigo. "Wait - is that... is that _rain_?"

Only a microsecond later his fears were confirmed.

"Oh cripes!"

"What's wrong?!" she demanded, wide-eyed.

"My books!"

He snatched a sheet of tarpaulin and bound for the exit, flinging himself into the evening shower.

"Books?!"

She pounced up, tight on his heels. When outside, she saw it: to the side of the barn, right next to the chicken coop, lay rack upon rack of books - all lying open to the sky to the first flush of downpour. Grimacing, Donatello flicked the tarpaulin over as many books as he could manage.

"Grab what you can!"

"Why are these even out here!"

"I, uh, had a little wiper blade accident earlier... and it was sunny a few hours ago!"

"Welcome to New England weather!"

"It's a little more unpredictable than I remembered."

April gawked: "Ya think!?"

She scooped up the closest tech manuals and bolted inside the barn, dumping the first load by the door, before heading back out. Ten frantic minutes later, drenched through by the pelting rain, and with the last load safely deposited, they stooped to catch their breaths. Donatello glanced up, and was the first to start giggling. It quickly infected April, until soon their laughter rang loud in the air.

"You are such a dork, how could you even forget about those?"

"Hey," he said, sounding faintly injured, "I've got a lot on my mind, too."

"Right. Great multitasking, by the way, giving your notes a thorough washing."

"Pffft, it's not a problem. I've got high res scans of just about everything uploaded on the cloud."

"Oh. Very clever."

"Well, I don't mean to brag..." he said jokingly, "But it's kind of my thing."

"I could tell. You know. After getting soaked for apparently no reason at all."

She swung her arms wide with a grin, allowing him to fully ingest the outcome of their excursion. The smile on his face made way for a searing blush and soon she became acutely aware of why - the air had cooled and her wet clothes clung to her skin, suctioning her flannelette shirt against her breasts. Little was left to the imagination. She flicked some of the water off her arms as best she could, not really caring what he could see.

"I guess I got that walk after all."

"If it worked," he said after a moment's composure, "just know that it was absolutely meant to go down that way."

"Side effects are a hell of a drug."

As if on cue, the lights in the barn flickered and dimmed as the patter of rain grew louder. With a pop and a fizz three lights above them went dead. Donatello glanced up at the ceiling. Only a small lantern set up on the workbench offered any light at all.

"Something else to add to the list, I suppose." he muttered to himself.

"Funny. I know just the person. He's a certifiable genius."

Knowing exactly what she meant, Donatello swung back towards to her.

"Certifiable, eh?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure which kind either."

"Well, I hope they don't mind if I add a few tasks to their agenda to lighten my load."

"Let me ask him,' she gave an airy wave of her hand, "I'm in his good books."

Donatello cocked his brow with a knowing smile: "You sure about that?"

"You want me to prove it?"

Donatello gave a dry chuckle, his gaze dropping to the ground, "I give. I'll take your word on good faith."

April relented: "Listen... I know I don't say it enough. But thank you for all you do around here."

"It's not a-"

"Problem?" she challenged softly, "I know. But thank you anyway."

She wasn't going to let him be all self deprecating on this one. For once he could just take the damned compliment.

"Right." he said at last.

They remained silent in the grey light as rain sluiced across the dust speckled windows and cast watery shadows along their shivering bodies. Unprompted, the memory of her dream fluttered at the periphery of her mind. A strange new sensation brewed in her, and slowly she came to understand it... _envy_. Envy as the shadows traced his body. Envy as the cold stole his heat.

 _Are you awake?_

In the quiet that bloomed between them, the answer began to form on her tongue.

Her fingertips caught his.

"Donnie?"

His name left her mouth so softly it almost made no sound. Slowly, he met her eyes. April's heart beat harder. Donnie had always been so good at hiding. In his lab. In his mind. From her. Putting on a perfect front to shield her from the truth. But now, without even trying, she could sense his heart beating faster, betraying all he had ever told her. And something else - Fear. Doubt. Disbelief. Things that she had no small part in forming. Shame twisted inside her.

A loud groan in the barn's frame snapped them from the moment, and just as quickly, their hands shuffled back to their sides.

"I-I should go dry off." he said quietly.

"M-me too."

Donatello's troubled stare drifted to the ground: "I... I think there's a clean towel by the tool shelf-"

"Yeah," she said quickly, "I'll go... I'll go grab one. You?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Thanks."

"Okay..." she took an unsteady step backwards and gestured over her shoulder, "I'll just go and-"

April turned on her heel, her face dropping, as she all but stomped to where the clean linen was piled. Tell-tale splotches of anger burned her cheeks. What in the hell was _wrong_ with her? Since when had been she afraid? And why the hell were there even towels in here, anyway?

But then she remembered (oh, but how could she have forgotten?), where only nights before she had seen him from the darkness of her loft window, the moonlight rimming the edges of his scutes as he waded into the lake. Was it to rinse off the day? To clear his head? Was it then, she wondered, when she knew without question?

Lost in thought, she took the towels into her arms; one beige, one a faded blue. Her grip tightened as she threw them back on the bench.

 _Goddamn it, April!_ _Why can't you just tell him?_

She spun around, almost slamming into Donatello.

 _Ninja._

"April?" His voice cracked ever so slightly.

He loomed before her, his chest unsteadily rising and falling, before tipping his head down to press a soft and sudden kiss against her lips. Fierce heat zipped through her body. Startled, she snapped open her eyes to meet his petrified expression. A gasp caught in her throat. But everything had become so clear. So simple. How could she have not understood before how lucky she was to have something so precious to lose? Without a moment more to waste, she rushed back in, kissing him as he clung to her, clinging to him as he returned it headily - and leaving no doubt in his mind what she wanted, who she needed; who she loved.

 _"April..."_ he breathed into her neck, " _oh, April."_

She clutched his jaw with her hands, deepening the kiss with her tongue, until the high he felt spilt over into her senses. All other substitutes fell far into its shadow. Not with Casey. Not with any drunken encounter in her youth. The power of it took her breath away.

 _"Donnie..."_ she whispered, " _I want you."_

Blindly, they stumbled backwards towards the shadowy corner of hay surrounded by the roll of thunder and patter of rain. But it was all a distant noise. A passing dream. She was finally awake. Discovering together what happened in the space where the words ran out.

...


	21. The Aftermath

A/N: Sorry for derailing for extra Apritello. No, I'm not - fight me!

* * *

21\. THE AFTERMATH

It was the pastel light of dawn that beamed through the loft windows that slowly but surely roused April from her from deep and dreamless sleep. The smell of the barn was the first thing she registered, but it was not until she wiped strands of hay from her face that alarm set in-

 _Where am I?_

The answer hitting sudden and hard –

 _Oh my GOD!_

She reached back, smacking into the sleeping form of Donatello behind her. His gentle snores continued on undisturbed as she muffled back a yelp of shock. The previous evening came rushing back in vivid detail. How his plastron was cool and his arms warm; how his nervousness was tempered by his diligence; his strength by his love; how making love to him felt exactly that. Every tender moment, every heightened sensation, now compounded neatly by Donatello's arm draped over her bare waist.

 _My god, his body. It matches his mind._

Her eyes drifted shut once again as she threaded her feet between his smooth shins. Donatello, lost in the mire of a dream, still managed a contented sigh. If there was a word for how happy she felt, she had yet to find it.

"Morning." she whispered.

The greeting went unanswered save from his even breathing. The temptation to nestle into his shoulder and join him was strong. To feel the steady beat of his heart on her back. But by now, Michelangelo would be up, beginning on the morning chore of making bread. Likely, too, Leonardo, undertaking the first of his many training sessions.

 _Fuck it_ , she thought, a little selfishly, _if they figure it out,_ _they're all old enough to understand_.

But figured out _what_ , exactly?

She wasn't even sure herself what this was. Their whispered confessions and the heat of their bodies did little to detangle the reality of the situation. What she wanted now was to treat this fledging shift between them with the precious care it deserved. To give it time to breathe and grow. To get back to the farmhouse before they had to explain something that had not yet taken full form. At least give them time to... flesh it out.

 _Haha, flesh it out. Jesus fuck, April, grow up._

She twisted beneath his arm to face him and ran her thumb along his pebbly cheek. If there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that waking him would be difficult.

"Don?"

Nothing.

"Donnie?"

He answered, groggily, "Mmm?"

She kissed the tip of his face. He was all but out to the world and damned if it wasn't as cute as hell. The only time she ever saw the constant worry leave his face.

"I have to go back up to the house."

Donatello's eyes snapped open. The panic in them was undeniable. Without trying she could read the one thing they said – _stay._

"It's okay." she reassured him, "I should go before the others get up."

There it was. The worry. Returned like an old friend.

"Don't worry. I'll talk with you soon."

Before he answer could answer, she sat up and grabbed her clothes. The shorts were dry but her shirt still slightly damp. And a horrible substitute for his body. She tousled strands of straw from her hair, feeling a little exposed in the light.

"Soon?" he said, voice scratchy and unsure.

Maybe he was scared, too. Of the aftermath.

"Promise."

He took her hand and kissed it, releasing her with a great reluctance, before shuffling up. It was strange, she thought, how something could be the same but different. The same but better.

"Soon." she repeated softly.

He gave a small nod of acceptance.

It took all her effort to tear herself away and walk out of the barn for the short trek back to the farmhouse. Somehow, she had snuck back in via the busted laundry door, avoiding all the creaky boards on her way upstairs, before diving straight into the shower. But there was only one thought dominating every movement she made.

 _Donnie..._

It was strange how naked she felt without him, like he had already coded himself into her mind: whippet quick and long legs and oh so fucking delicious. The hot water wasn't helping. She exited steaming clean and smelling like Leonardo's home-made soap, before heading back downstairs in a denim shorts and tank top, an outfit that made her ass look firm and her shoulders straight, something she didn't mind showing-off after all her years of training had afforded her. She took a deep breath. Then another. It was time to get into the kitchen and sell this show.

"Hey, Mi-"

Much to her surprise, it was empty. She stopped in her tracks, thinking. If, on the off chance, Michelangelo had slept in, Leonardo would have surely kicked him out from the cushion pile of a bed come seven. But April was sure Mikey had been eager to try out a recipe for a plaited loaf this morning. He had waxed on about it at dinner the previous evening to secretly cheer everyone up after Leo's cooking.

So where was he?

Had there had been a collective decision to skip carbs? Or had the sushi last night actually given them all a mild dose of food poisoning. Whatever the reason, the quiet was a small reprieve from the chaos in her head, and with no other tasks to distract herself, she set about making her morning coffee, until soon the smell of bitter grinds filler the air. The familiar warmth of it in her mouth triggered something else, too. She felt a creeping flush on her neck, her eyes drifting shut, as the sound of Donnie's heavy rhythmic breathing echoed in her mind.

 _Donnie..._

Her teeth dug into her lower lip as she leaned back onto the counter.

"Why, good _morning,_ April!"

She jerked up, fumbling her cup.

"Mikey! I, uh... do you want me to get started on-"

"Shh, shh, shh-" Her fears were only amplified when he took her hand, "April. Two words - _breakfast burritos_."

"Great!" she repeated brightly, feeling her smile crack beneath the pressure, "That's... great!"

"April?"

The new voice in the kitchen had her whipping her head to where Donatello had seemingly materialised. Warm morning light silhouetted his form in the doorway. Her heart beat hard in her chest.

"Dee." she said softly.

Michelangelo's interest bounced back and forth between them.

"So... did the hunger finally break you, bro?"

Donatello's attention flicked over to his brother, "Pardon?"

"You know." Michelangelo volleyed back a little too innocent to be innocent, "Hunger? You hungry?"

Donatello blinked.

"I could eat." he said at last.

April bit down on her lip, trying to tamp down a snigger. Only he could possibly have returned such a loaded reply. Knowing he had hit his mark, Donnie let a tiny slip of a grin escape. He glanced at April and tilted his head towards the outside.

"Can I talk with you for a minute?"

"Sure! Is this about that... thing? The, uh, code thing?"

Donatello nodded back, "Yes, there's this small line of... _code_ I wanted to clear up."

Michelangelo snipped an apple from the counter and took a bite.

"Oh, yeah... the _code_." she continued in the best impersonation of blasé she could muster, "Yeah, I had something to tell you about that, too."

"Great! I, uh, I look forward to hearing it. Shall we?"

"Absolutely!"

She cringed at how phoney it sounded, but followed Donatello outside - swearing she heard an " _oh brother_ " follow behind them. Outside, he gestured to the porch steps and joined alongside her. They sat in silence a beat, enjoying the quiet moment together as the golden pink clouds faded to white. The morning was warming up felt good on her skin but she shivered despite herself, waiting as he tapped his feet in an effort to rid his nervous energy.

"I'm sorry." he said at last, "I couldn't wait."

A heavy sigh left her. She shouldn't have expected anything less. If something needed rectifying, fixing, resolving... Donatello was not one to put it on the backburner. She should know. The guy had stamina.

"No, I'm sorry. I should have stayed with you this morning but I thought... _options_. If I got back before anyone got up, we'd have time to figure out what we do next."

He turned to face her, the crease of worry between his eyes etched there once again.

"And what do you want to do... next?"

There was no missing the fear in his voice. But she was determined to quash all doubt.

"What happened last night... I don't want it to end. And if you feel the same way-"

"I do."

"I want to do this."

His eyes glistened, "Me too."

A crash from inside the house alerted them that Raphael had awoken. They both glanced over towards the kitchen window. There was little doubt Leonardo had joined his brothers by now, most likely meditating since the crack of dawn for his brothers to wake. A murmur of their voices arguing over juice confirmed it.

"So," he ventured warily, "what do you propose?"

"Well, keeping it on the down-low might be a bust." she said with a frown, "It's kind of obvious Mikey knows."

Alerted to this left-field entry, Donatello straightened, "Really?"

"What was it he used to make when Renet stayed over?"

"Breakfast burritos?" It took merely seconds for him to make the connection, "Oh."

"Yup."

A quiet chuckle escaped him: "I always liked when Renet was over."

"Those burritos were the best, weren't they?"

They fell quiet a moment, knees almost touching as they sat side by side. His fingers ticked towards hers, never quiet daring to reach. The urge to touch him back, to hold him, nearly overwhelmed her. He was still waiting for her, she realised, the restraint she sensed enough to make her light-headed. Instead, she tilted her head towards him, stopping shy of resting her head on his shoulder.

"You look beautiful." he whispered under his breath.

She swallowed hard and stared at the tips of her Cons. All of his life, and so much of hers, had been shrouded in secrecy. What was it she was trying to convince herself of earlier? That she needed more time? More secrets? She couldn't bear it. Not after all this time. Not after all these years. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed, practically feeling the grin blossom on his face.

"I don't think we need to wait another decade, do we?"

"I- uh..." he rasped, happily, "I concur."

And at the heart of it all, she knew-

"I love you."

She did not give him a chance to answer, leaning in to kiss him square on the mouth. His hand snuck around her waist and drew her closer. And all at once, everything felt... perfect.

A glaring silence from within the kitchen followed their kiss; then a Raphael-sized bellowing from the barracks:

"'S 'bout friggin' time."

...


End file.
